Epiphany
by SFCBruce
Summary: Sequel to Absolution. Katniss Everdeen, the reluctant Mockingjay and the living face of the Rebellion, and Peeta Mellark discover the true horrors of war, and eventually find themselves joined by a most unlikely ally in their fight against the Capitol. A/U, mature themes, occasional strong language, and continuing Everlark.
1. Chapter 1

**EPIPHANY**

 **CHAPTER 1**

 **PART I**

 _"Are you certain?"_

 _The black-clad man nodded his head in the affirmative. "Yes, ma'am. The commander of Mercy Flight One just transmitted the passenger manifest for this lift. Katniss Everdeen is not on board any of the four hovercraft in Flight One."_

 _The woman glanced at the man, her face carefully impassive, except for the tight set of her mouth. Absently, she brushed a wayward strand of her straight, shoulder length gray hair back with one hand, while simultaneously reaching out with the other._

 _"Let me see that," she barked, indicating the PADD in the black-clad man's hand._

 _The man handed her the PADD before stepping back, arms at his side. The woman quickly scrolled down the passenger manifest on the softly glowing screen._

 _"Cartwright...Hawthorne...Undersee..." the woman softly muttered as she quickly scanned the list, many marked with a red "M" next to their name, indicating an immediate need for medical attention upon arrival._

 _The woman looked up, turning to face a stocky, sandy haired, fleshy-faced man standing nearby. He's dressed in a gray jumpsuit, similar in cut to the black-clad aide, and just a slightly darker shade than a like garment worn by the gray haired woman._

 _"I don't see the names Abernathy or Mellark on this manifest, either, Mr. Heavensbee," the woman remarked evenly. "I am certain that I gave Colonel Boggs explicit instructions that the three District Twelve Victors were to be on the first hovercraft."_

 _The man smiled, not out of humor...it is the smile of man that has had his judgment validated. "Madam President," he began carefully, "I distinctly recall that I advised you that something like this would most likely happen. I've yet to meet a Victor that was any good at following orders." He regarded her with tired, bloodshot eyes. He hasn't slept in over two days, not counting the fitful sleep that he managed on the hovercraft flight from the Capitol the day before._

 _"When I issue a command, I expect it to be obeyed," the woman muttered as she handed the PADD back to her aide. "Boggs certainly knows better than to disobey me."_

 _"I'm sure that Colonel Boggs had every intention of carrying out your orders, President Coin," Heavensbee replied. "That being said, I know Haymitch Abernathy quite well, and I have had the opportunity to meet both Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark...in an official capacity, of course...and all three can be quite...persuasive...when they wish to be."_

 _"Mr. Heavensbee, are you suggesting that they managed to_ persuade _my Chief of Security into countermanding my_ direct orders _?" Coin asked incredulously._

 _Heavensbee looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Uhhh...something like that, Madam President."_ I doubt that there was much _talk_ involved, _Heavensbee said to himself._ However, it wouldn't have been surprising to find that sharp, pointy objects, and possibly even a firearm or two, was used to present the Victors' side of the argument...and that rather convincingly.

 _"Word from Flight One, President Coin," the aide announced. "ETA fifteen minutes."_

 _Coin nodded in response, turning and facing the hangar door, now tightly closed. "How many medicals on this lift?"_

 _"One hundred thirty-one," the aide replied, after checking the display on the PADD._

 _"Contact the hospital," Coin ordered. "All trauma teams to the South hangar. Be prepared to accept one hundred thirty-one wounded. I assume that there's no indication on the manifest as to the seriousness of those requiring medical attention?"_

 _"No, ma'am."_

 _"So we don't know if we're dealing with simple bruises and lacerations, or through and through gunshot wounds," Coin muttered in frustration. "No matter. Our medics can triage right here in the hanger." Coin paused, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully. "One more thing. How many Capitol citizens and how many of these so-called 'Rebel Peacekeepers' are on this lift?"_

 _The aide frowned at the PADD screen for a moment before looking up again. "No indication on the manifest, Madam President."_

 _"Why do you ask, Madam President?" Heavensbee asked softly._

 _"Simple, Mr. Heavensbee," Coin replied. "It's a matter of security. And until any and all potential or actual Loyalists are properly vetted and screened, they will be watched, and watched closely...including the people that you brought out with you yesterday."_

 _"About that, Madam President," Heavensbee chose his words carefully. "Cinna's commitment to the cause is absolute, as is Portia's. In fact, the only reason that she and her prep team aren't here is as a result of a 'perfect storm' set of unforeseen circumstances that -"_

 _Coin held up her hand. "Mr. Heavensbee. Believe it or not, I'm just as exhausted as you are. That means that I am in no mood to debate my decision to keep Katniss Everdeen's Stylist and prep team under increased scrutiny until I am satisfied that they pose no threat to the security of District Thirteen."_

 _Heavensbee inclined his head slightly. "Of course, Madam President. I meant no offense to your authority. I'm just concerned about Katniss's reaction, that's all."_

 _"Reaction?" Coin arched one eyebrow as she eyed Heavensbee warily. "Please explain...and try to do so in, say, fifty words or less."_

 _"Very well," Heavensbee replied. "Katniss is extraordinarily fond of Cinna. She also has a soft spot for her prep team. It would go a long way towards securing her commitment to becoming the Mockingjay if she was able to see Cinna and the others treated as allies, rather than criminals."_

 _Coin pondered Heavensbee's words for a moment before replying. "You have a point. No sense in alienating Miss Everdeen. Very well." She turned to her aide. "Cinna and his staff are to be on hand when the Victors finally arrive. Minimal security. Got that?"_

 _The aide nodded. "Yes, ma'am." His eyes never leave the PADD that he's typing on._

 _"One more thing," Coin added. The aide looked up questioningly. "Any indications of further Capitol air activity in the vicinity of Twelve?"_

 _The aide shook his head. "No, ma'am. Nothing on long range radar."_

 _Coin nodded in satisfaction. Behind her there was a sudden bustle of activity as more medical teams arrived and began setting up to receive the first influx of wounded. And, as Coin turned back to Heavensbee, a voice boomed out from the public address system in the hangar as the massive portal doors began to open._

 _"Attention. Prepare to receive inbound hovercraft. ETA in one minute."_

 _Coin tugged at the front of her gray coverall. "Alright then." A grim smile creased her face. "Time to greet our arrivals. Coming, Mr. Heavensbee?"_

 _"Of course, Madam President," Heavensbee replied smoothly, carefully masking his true feelings and thoughts._

I have to tread very lightly with this woman, _he said to himself, even as the first hovercraft glides into the hangar and is guided to a landing pad by a ground handler,_ I can see that she's every bit as dangerous as Coriolanus Snow.

 **PART II**

I finishED off the last of the water in the bottle and stand up carefully, wary of the hovercraft hitting still more turbulence. I don't have to worry. The flight now was as smooth as glass.

A District Thirteen crewman spotted the empty bottle in my hand and moved forward. "I'll take that," the crewman...a young woman no older than me...smiled shyly at me as she held out her hand.

"Thanks," I murmured, handing her the empty bottle. "Any chance of getting another?"

"Sure." The crewman handed me a full bottle. I nodded my thanks, getting another shy smile in return, before I turn and head towards the cockpit...and Katniss.

"Hey." Katniss was kneeling next to Cressida's lifeless body. She's wrapped Cressida carefully in a mattress cover that she ripped off a bed in the train. Katniss looked up at me wearily.

Wordlessly, I hold the water bottle out to her. Katniss stared at it for a moment before taking the bottle from me. "Thanks," she muttered as she opens the bottle and takes a long drink, then another, before capping the bottle and setting it carefully beside her.

I squat down awkwardly next to Katniss. "It's a short flight to Thirteen, or so I've been told. Thirty minutes, maybe a little more. We'll be there soon."

Katniss nodded in understanding. "How many," she began, her gaze dropping back to Cressida's shrouded body, "how many made it out?"

"Haymitch thinks a couple thousand or so," I replied, glancing to my right, where Prim Everdeen and her mother were working on Darius Potter's injured leg. Darius, who had made it through the battles in District Twelve with only a few minor cuts and bruises, had managed to trip over a tree root last night. At first, Prim and Mrs. Everdeen had thought it to be badly sprained, but the swelling and the fact that Darius couldn't put any weight on it at all had them convinced that the leg was, in fact, broken.

I caught Prim's eye and she gives me a quick, tired smile, before turning back to her patient. She looked exhausted. We all look exhausted.

"A couple thousand," Katniss echoed. "That means over seven thousand dead. Dead because of me. Because of us."

"Hey," I replied quietly. "You didn't attack Twelve, and neither did I. Snow did." I ran my fingertips over her cheek, now streaked with sweat, dirt, dried blood, and numerous tear tracks. Katniss reached up to grasp my hand firmly, holding it against her cheek. "Snow did," I repeated. "Not us."

Katniss shook her head sadly. "Snow, us, Peacekeepers, Thirteen. It doesn't matter to the people that wouldn't...or couldn't...make it out before the bombs started to drop. They're just as dead." Katniss's gaze falls back to Cressida's carefully wrapped body. "Just like Cressida."

"She knew what she was getting into," a new voice said from behind me. Messalla, along with Castor and Pollux, squat down next to us. Messalla reaches out and tugged at a corner of Cressida's shroud, carefully tucking the loose flap of cloth back into the small, still bundle. "We all did. And, to be honest, none of us really expect to survive this war. Cressida least of all." Messalla paused for a moment while reaching out to smooth Cressida's shroud. "We just didn't think it would happen so quickly," he added softly.

"You're willing to fight for something that you don't think you'll live to see?" Katniss asked doubtfully.

"Aren't you?" Messalla countered.

Katniss regarded Messalla with a steady, unflinching gaze. "I guess I never thought about it like that before."

"And now?" Messalla asked.

Katniss's gaze dropped back to Cressida's small, still form. "Yeah," she murmured softly. "I won't be able to _not_ think about it. But I plan to survive this. I have to. There's something that I have to do."

"What's that, Katniss?" I asked gently.

Katniss turned towards me, and, in a quiet, solemn voice, she replied, "I have to kill Snow."

 **PART III**

I firmly grasped the litter handle and glanced to my left as Haymitch grabbed his own handle. "On three," he grunts. "One...two... _three_."

The three-count was unnecessary. Cressida was a light load for the four of us.

There's a moment's awkwardness as Haymitch and I stutter step before we find our rhythm with Castor and Pollux. It takes a few steps until the four of us are working in tandem with one another.

Katniss was leading the way, along with Colonel Boggs. Directly behind us was another litter, this one bearing Darius, who's being carried by the other two surviving Rebel Peacekeepers...I was glad to see that one of them is Purnia...along with the two unwounded infiltrators, Jackson and Leeg. Homes and Mitchell, the other two members of the infiltration team, had been evacuated earlier on another flight, over their strenuous objections. Mrs. Everdeen, along with Prim, are both walking next to Darius's litter, even though there's nothing more they can do for the former Peacekeeper.

As we neared the exit ramp, Haymitch muttered, "Heads up. Looks like we got a reception committee."

I peered around Pollux and Boggs and I could see a small group standing a few meters past the end of the ramp. I recognized Plutarch Heavensbee, Cinna, and Katniss's prep team...Venia, Octavia, and Flavius...along with a slim, gray haired woman that I knew, from the way Boggs and the other Thirteens had talked about her, could only be one person.

The President of District Thirteen, Alma Coin.

President Coin stepped forward just as we step off the ramp onto the concrete floor. "Madam President," Boggs intoned, "this is Katniss Everdeen. Miss Everdeen, Alma Coin, President of District Thirteen."

"A distinct pleasure," Coin said with a smile, her hand extended towards Katniss. "Your courage has inspired us all."

"Hello," Katniss said absently, peering around Coin, her eyes widening when she catches sight of Cinna, standing patiently with the prep team.

"Cinna?" Katniss gasped as she rushed forward. "Cinna!" Katniss practically knocks Cinna over as she all but hurled herself into his arms.

"Hello again, Girl on Fire," Cinna murmured as his arms wrap around Katniss.

"I'm sorry," Katniss gasped. "I'm so sorry. I...I ruined this beautiful dress that you made for me." Katniss pulled away from him slightly, indicating with her hands the stained, torn remains of Cinna's creation.

"If I'd been thinking, I would have made it bullet proof," Cinna replied with a smile. "Don't worry. I'll make you another."

I glanced over at Coin, standing tight-lipped, with Heavensbee at her side, and get Haymitch's attention. Haymitch takes in the situation at a glance and gives me a quick, crooked grin.

"Castor," Haymitch called out. "Pollux. Let's set Cressida down for a moment, okay?"

We carefully lower the litter. Haymitch leaned in closer to me, and muttered, "Looks like her majesty is a little miffed that Katniss is ignoring her in favor of her Stylist and prep team." Haymitch then stepped forward, beckoning me to follow.

"Madam President," Haymitch began, extending his hand. "Haymitch Abernathy. And this is Peeta Mellark, Victor of the Third Quarter Quell."

"Mr. Abernathy," Coin replied, her voice tightly controlled, as she takes his outstretched hand. She shoots a cold glance toward Katniss, who's now busy hugging each member of her prep team. "I trust that you are better versed in matters of...decorum, than your...than Miss Everdeen."

"Youthful exuberance," Haymitch explained with a smile. "And this," he continued, "is Peeta Mellark."

"President Coin," I murmured, offering her my hand. "It's an honor."

"The pleasure's mine, Mr. Mellark," Coin replied as she shakes my hand. "You, at least, seem to possess basic manners."

"She's had a hard time," I explained. "I'm sure that she -"

"Wait." Coin holds up one hand. "What...is _that_?"

Haymitch frowned. "Madam President?"

Coin pointed at the shroud-wrapped body of Cressida. "That. Why was _that_ brought here?"

Boggs, who had been standing patiently to one side while waiting for Katniss to finish greeting Cinna and the others, moved quickly to step between Haymitch and Coin. "President Coin," he began carefully, "I can explain. I -"

"I'm surprised at you, Boggs." Coin turned to her security chief, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "You know what SOP is regarding KIA handling in the field."

"Ma'am." Boggs said, swallowing hard, "I know the SOP. But Miss Everdeen was insistent. Something about performing some sort of District Twelve funeral rite. I thought, given the circumstances, that an exception -"

"No exceptions!" Coin snapped loudly. She sniffed disdainfully at the body. "It's already starting to stink. Do you want a repeat of the Pox?" She turned to a man standing just behind her. "Get a disposal team to the West Hangar ASAP. One for incineration."

"Uhhh...President Coin?" I stepped forward. "Ma'am, we'll be happy to take care of Cressida ourselves." I turned, indicating Haymitch, Castor, Pollux, and Messalla, who had also joined us. "This is Cressida's crew," I explained. "They were...we all were...close to Cressida. All we need are a few picks and shovels and we'll see that she's given a decent burial."

"Mr. Mellark," Coin replied, her voice condescending, "inasmuch as we would like to acquiesce to your request to perform some sort of quaint outer district burial ritual, you must understand our position here. A corpse is a veritable breeding ground for infectious disease. Incineration is -"

 _"NO!"_

Coin jumped, visibly startled, and turned toward the source of the voice...a very angry Katniss Everdeen. Coin made an obvious effort to compose herself before she attempted to speak.

"Miss Everdeen," Coin began, her voice tightly controlled, "I need you to understand the necessity of -"

"I said no!" Katniss practically spits the words. "Cressida died trying to protect me! She died for the Rebellion! She's earned the right to a decent burial!"

"Disposal team is en route, ma'am," the aide reported. Coin turned her head slightly, nodding curtly, and then returned her attention to Katniss.

"Young woman," Coin said, fighting to maintain control of her voice, "I can understand your loyalty to a fallen comrade, but a burial detail is a waste of valuable resources. The answer is no. You may conduct a memorial, if you wish, at a later date. But there will be no burial."

"Ma'am?" I stepped forward, sliding my arm protectively around Katniss's shoulders...although, at this point, it's more to protect Coin from Katniss's rapidly building anger. "Ma'am, there's more than enough of us here to take care of Cressida. None of your people would have to lift a finger to help. All we would need are the tools to dig with."

I felt Katniss tense under my arm. _We're definitely not starting off on the right foot here. We haven't been on the ground five minutes and already there's a problem between Katniss and Coin._ I glanced around at the rest. Messalla, along with Castor and Pollux, are standing over Cressida's body protectively. Haymitch was talking in low, urgent tones with Plutarch Heavensbee. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are standing to Katniss's immediate right, their presence offering Katniss silent support. Prim was clutching the leads to her two goats, while Mrs. Everdeen was holding the makeshift pet transporter that contained a very miffed Buttercup.

Boggs, looking unhappy with the way things are developing, was standing off to one side, along with Jackson and Leeg. The litter that holds Darius had been carefully set down. He, along with Purnia and the other Rebel Peacekeeper, are watching the conflict between Katniss and Coin with undisguised interest.

I catch sight of a movement off to my left and turn my head to see two people, clad head to toe in some sort of protective overgarments, pushing a wheeled gurney towards us. It's pretty obvious that this is the "disposal team" that Coin had ordered to report here.

Coin's eyes flicker toward the pair. "One for the incinerator," she said, pointing to Cressida. I felt Katniss's entire body stiffen.

"Madam President," Heavensbee said urgently, as he and Haymitch step forward. "Please. I beg your indulgence. One minute."

Coin glanced at Heavensbee before nodding and holding up one hand. "Wait." She turned and faced Heavensbee and Haymitch. "You have one minute, gentlemen."

Plutarch and Haymitch began to speak urgently, in low tones, to President Coin. Katniss's eyes never leave Coin as she whispered, "I won't let them take Cressida, Peeta. I won't!"

"I won't let them either," I promised. I steal a glance at Darius, Purnia, and the third surviving Rebel Peacekeeper...I really need to learn his name...watching intently as Coin conferred with Plutarch and Haymitch, their hands never far from their pistols. _How am I supposed to keep a promise like that?_ For the first time I noticed just how many District Thirteen soldiers... _armed_ soldiers...are present.

 _It's just like the Games, minus the countdown clock. The hovercraft is substituting for the Cornucopia. If someone does the wrong thing here, it'll be a bloodbath. We're outnumbered. We need to retreat, not attack, especially considering that these people are supposed to be our new allies!_

Just about then, Coin stepped forward, flanked by Plutarch on one side and Haymitch on the other. "Some...facts...were just brought to my attention," Coin said, her voice tight. "Miss Everdeen. You may conduct your burial ritual. The disposal team will assist you with handling the...Miss Pierce's remains. Boggs, they will need an escort topside."

Jackson spoke up before Boggs had a chance to acknowledge. "I'll do it."

"Me too," Leeg added immediately.

Coin nodded. "Very well. Now, as to your livestock, and the feline. Normally, pets are a waste of resources, and as such, are prohibited in Thirteen. However, considering your contribution to the Rebellion, I will make an exception for the cat. The goats will be turned over to our animal husbandry section -"

"No!" Prim shouted, and then, as if shocked by her outburst, she added, "Ma'am."

Coin looked at Prim in irritation before continuing. "As I was saying, the goats will be turned over to the animal husbandry section, where they will be well cared for." She gave Prim a pointed look. "Satisfied?"

"They won't be hurt?" Prim asked doubtfully.

"I give you my word, young lady," Coin replied. "Your animals will not be harmed in any way." Once again, she turned to her aide. "Contact the Farm. Have them send that geneticist...what's his name? The one that walked here from Ten?"

"Dalton, ma'am," the aide replied, without looking up from his PADD.

"Dalton." Coin repeated. "I'm sure he has experience with goats. I know none of our people do."

"Festuca," Haymitch muttered. "He can help also."

"Right," Plutarch said. "President Coin, there was a man on one of the earlier lifts that has extensive experience with goats. In fact, he sold these two to young Miss Everdeen. His name is Silenus Festuca."

Coin nodded tightly and once again turned to her aide. "Contact this other refugee as well. See Mr. Abernathy for his name." She turned back toward Katniss and I once again. "Will three hours be sufficient time to conduct your rituals?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied immediately, before Katniss can say anything.

"Very well," Coin said stiffly, as she turned to Plutarch once again. "Mr. Heavensbee. Colonel Boggs. Please come with me."

"I'll talk to you all later on," Plutarch said quickly, even as he hurried after Coin.

"That went rather well, don't you think?" Haymitch remarked sardonically, as we watch Coin striding towards the hangar exit, with Plutarch and Boggs hurrying along behind her.

"Mr. Abernathy," the aide said, "I'll need the spelling of the name of that goat expert. Then I'll take care of getting you all in-processed."

"Later," Jackson said. "We have something to do first." She turned to the disposal team. "Transfer Cressida onto your gurney," she ordered, "and be gentle about it. She's suffered enough."

 **PART IV**

I dozed fitfully, sitting in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair next to Katniss's hospital bed. My hands are raw and blistered, unaccustomed to either wielding a shovel or swinging a pick. Some of the blisters had already popped, and have been carefully covered by medicated bandages.

I learned three things today. One, a grave designed for one person must be dug by one person at a time. Two, life here in District Thirteen was decidedly different than life in District Twelve. And finally, three: Everyone has their limits. Even Katniss Everdeen.

She finally collapsed under the combined weight of the emotional pressures and the physical stress from being shot...but not before we had carefully lowered Cressida into her final resting spot, in a patch of soft earth near a small plot of cultivated land that Jackson told us was part of a complex known collectively as "The Farm."

None of us knew the right words to say. But everyone present said something. My contribution was by simply saying, "Find peace, Cressida. You've earned it." Katniss's was even shorter.

"I'm so sorry."

And then she collapsed.

There was something macabre, even ghoulish, about loading Katniss up on the same gurney that had taken Cressida to her final resting place. And, under normal circumstances, I would have simply picked her up and carried her back into District Thirteen. But the circumstances are far from normal, and I'm teetering on the brink of exhaustion myself. I just didn't have the strength right now to carry her anywhere.

The medical staff here impressed me. They are compassionate and there's warmth about them that I've yet to see from any other resident of District Thirteen. They immediately took Katniss under their care, quickly notifying Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, and even had time to assign a medic to look at my hands and take care of me.

They had worse luck convincing me to locate my quarters to get cleaned up and rest. But I can't. Not until I know that Katniss will be okay. And so, here I sat, keeping vigil over a heavily sedated Katniss Everdeen.

A nurse comes in, checks Katniss's morphling drip, and examined the readings on the machine that monitors her vital signs before turning to me.

"Did her mother and sister go to dinner?" She asked.

I nodded. "About fifteen minutes ago."

"You should go get something to eat," the nurse suggested gently.

I shook my head. "There should be someone here that Katniss knows when she wakes up."

The nurse nodded in understanding. "If you wait until they return, the mess hall will be closed." She reached over and gently patted my hand. "I'll see if there's any left on the dinner cart, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

Silently, the nurse walked out of the room. I sat back in my chair, suddenly overcome by fatigue. The stress of the last few days was finally catching up to me. All the planning, the secrecy, the worry that _something_ will go wrong and we would be found out, coupled with the actual chaos and horror that accompanied the Uprising, and the subsequent firebombing of the district, the death of my mother, brother and his wife...

I jerk awake at the sound of Katniss moaning softly. She's beginning to thrash around in the hospital bed, small moans coming from her mouth. I leaned forward, reaching out and grasping her hand firmly in mine, placing my other hand gently on her forehead. If I'm lucky I'll be able to wake her before her nightmare gets any worse.

"It's okay, Katniss," I murmured over and over, stroking her forehead and feeling her fingers close almost spastically over my other hand. I am lucky this time. Katniss's moans began to subside and her eyes slowly fluttered open.

Katniss turned her head towards me and stared in confusion for a moment, before her eyes finally focused on my face and her features relax in recognition.

"Peeta?" She blinked her eyes rapidly. "Oh, Peeta. You look _terrible_."

I managed a crooked smile. "Good. I'd hate to think that me feeling like shit isn't going to waste."

Katniss shook her head. "You're unbelievable. Making jokes after all that's happened in the last few days." Her tone was gently chiding, but nevertheless a ghost of a smile flickered over her lips.

I gently brushed a stray strand of dark hair off of her forehead. "It's either joke or scream," I replied softly. "I'd rather joke."

Katniss clutched my other hand tighter. "What happened?" She asked, glancing down at her supine body.

"Lots of things," I replied. "Stress, fear, worry, exhaustion...but most of all, the broken rib that you got when Breccia shot you. You're taped up pretty good, but the doctors say you can get out of here tomorrow morning."

Katniss's eyes narrowed slightly as I speak. "What about Prim? And my mother?"

"They've been assigned quarters. We all have...well, except for me. They went to get something to eat. They should be back soon."

Katniss frowned. "Why not you? Why don't you have quarters yet?"

"Because," I replied carefully, "I came here with you instead of going to in-processing after we...took care of Cressida."

At that moment the nurse returned, pushing a small cart with two meal trays. "Oh, good," she said with a smile, "you're awake. And there was an extra tray." The nurse positioned a small tray-table over Katniss and sets one dinner tray on the table, and then placed the other tray on a small night stand next to Katniss's bed.

"I'll come back on rounds after you've eaten," she said as she leaves, pushing the empty cart ahead of her.

I examined the tray. A single square of some sort of processed meat, a serving of vegetables (my nose tells me stewed turnips), two slices of bread, and a glass of water. I glanced up at Katniss as she examines her own, identical, meal.

We ate in silence. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim returned just as we're finishing up. They've already changed into District Thirteen clothing. I noticed that it's identical to the uniforms that the hospital staff was wearing.

"We've been assigned to Medical," Mrs. Everdeen explained.

Prim told Katniss that their quarters were located in the upper levels and that there's a real window that opens to the outside...District Thirteen's concession to allowing the Everdeens to keep Buttercup. The window was to allow Buttercup to be able to roam outside at will...and feed himself.

"We were told that if he made a nuisance of himself that he would be shot," Prim stated bitterly. "I don't think I like this President Coin very much."

"Primrose!" Mrs. Everdeen sharply rebuked her youngest daughter. I don't know if the rebuke is genuine, or if it was done out of fear that the hospital room, like our mansions in the now-incinerated Victors' Village, is bugged.

"It's okay, Prim," Katniss said wearily, ignoring her mother. "I don't think I like her very much, either."

Mrs. Everdeen looked like she's about to say something else, but instead compresses her lips in a thin, white line. I catch her eye and shake my head slowly. "Neither do I."

If Coin was listening, she might as well know that the Everdeen and Mellark survivors of District Twelve don't think much of her.

 **PART V**

"Here we are." My escort...the young man that I saw earlier today at Coin's elbow, and whose name, I've learned, was Henry Elliott...stopped outside a nondescript door somewhere on Level Twenty.

Henry slid the door open. "Normally, bachelors are expected to share quarters with other bachelors," he explained, "but you are a VIP." He offered me a wan smile. "Not exactly what you were accustomed to in Victors' Village, but it's clean, and private." He paused for a moment. "You were originally supposed to have quarters near the Everdeens, but the presence of the cat complicates things."

I stepped into the quarters...a single room, with a small bed, chair, and a combination desk and table. My small bag sits on the bed; next to several neatly folded gray coveralls. A clean, sterile room, completely devoid of personality...much like what I've seen of District Thirteen so far.

Henry quickly pointed out the rooms' features...light switches, the bathroom, a small closet, storage compartments, a comm unit on the desk complete with a digital directory, a video screen ("Not for entertainment," Henry had explained, "for announcements and information. It activates automatically and shuts off when the announcement is complete."), and, finally, a recess in the wall, with a single pushbutton and a small light next to the button.

"First call is at zero six hundred. If your alarm is still activating at zero six thirty, expect a comm call from Medical. Once you get up, stick your arm in this -" he inserted his left arm into the recess "- and push this button. This light will glow red for a few seconds. Take your arm out when it changes to green."

"What's it for?" I asked.

Henry smiled and pushed up his left sleeve. His forearm was covered with dark, purplish writing. "Your daily schedule. Covers everything from breakfast to lights out. It's in indelible ink; so don't worry about it smearing. It'll wash off every night during Bathing."

I examined Henry's schedule closely. Sure enough, "Bathing" was stamped on his arm, scheduled for twenty-one hundred hours. "Very thorough," I muttered.

"You'll get used to it," Henry said, somewhat defensively. "Alright, Mr. Mellark. I'm sure you would like to get settled. I'll see you tomorrow." He slides open the door and then pauses. "Oh, I almost forgot. The clothing that you're wearing...would you like it laundered?"

I glanced down at my clothes...the same suit that I had worn to Reaping, and have been wearing continuously for the last three days...and I shake my head. "No," I replied slowly, "no, don't bother. I don't want any of it back."

"We'll recycle them, then," Henry replied with a smile. "There's bags in your wardrobe. Just place your clothing in one of the bags and leave it outside your door." He turned to leave again. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Henry," I replied as the door slides shut behind him. I'm alone for the first time in days.

I hung up the coveralls in the wardrobe, noting that everything seems to have been provided for me...underwear, t-shirts, socks, even two pair of sturdy boots...and unpack my meager possessions from my bag. Wearily, I stripped down and pad into the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth thoroughly and shave before stepping into the shower...my first in days.

I spend a long time in the shower before finally, reluctantly, turning the water off. After toweling myself off, I carefully hang the towel up to dry and slipped on shorts and a t-shirt before I sink down on the bed.

I debate for a moment about removing my prosthetic before finally detaching it carefully, setting it next to the bed. My exhaustion is quickly overtaking me and I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open. There's only one more thing that I have to do.

I pulled myself to my feet and hopped to the desk, settling into the chair and pulling the comm unit to me. I quickly consulted the directory and tap in a code. It's similar to telephones that I've used in the past, except there's no handset.

"Nurse's station West," a voice answered almost immediately. "How may I help you?"

"This is Peeta Mellark," I replied. "I would like to speak to Katniss Everdeen."

A short pause, followed by "One moment, Mr. Mellark." After a few moments, I heard a click, followed by a familiar voice.

"Peeta? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I replied, feeling my voice catch. "I...I'm in quarters. I just wanted to talk to you before it got too late."

"I'm glad you called," Katniss said quietly. "There's no phone...I mean, 'comm unit,' in my room. They had to bring one in for me."

"I just wanted to say I love you before I fall asleep," I replied softly.

"I love you too, Peeta," Katniss practically whispered. "I can't wait to get out of this hospital tomorrow."

"I know. I don't blame you."

"Peeta? Did we do the right thing?"

 _I don't know, Katniss. Thousands of our friends and neighbors are dead...cremated by Capitol firebombs. And it will only get worse before it gets better. Did we_ really _do the right thing?_

"Yes," I replied firmly. "Yes, we did."

"I'm not so sure anymore," Katniss said softly. "I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"You can be sure of one thing, Katniss...that I love you."

"I love you, Peeta," she whispered. "But I have to go. The nurses want me to get some sleep. And you need to sleep too."

I sighed. The last two nights we spent in the forest, with no fire for fear of attracting Capitol hovercraft, huddled together. How she must have been hurting all that time! But she never once complained. _Tomorrow night_ , I said to myself. _Tomorrow night we'll sleep together._

"You're right," I softly said. "Goodnight, Katniss. I love you. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Peeta. I love you."

And the line goes silent.

I sighed once more and hopped back to the bed. It's narrow, and the mattress is thin, and, as I lay down, it feels like the most luxurious Capitol bed that I've ever slept in. I lie down, pull the covers up, and dim the lights. I'll worry about tomorrow in the morning.

I fall asleep quickly, and tonight, my dreams are not of mutts, and dead Tributes, and losing Katniss. Tonight, my dreams are about a small, shroud-wrapped body, being slowly covered by clumps of rich, loamy earth.

Cressida was the first to die in the Rebellion. She won't be the last. I just hope that she doesn't have too much company along the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

 **PART I**

Forty-eight hours.

We'd been given just two days and two nights to get acclimated to life underground here in District Thirteen. Two days to try to remember our way around...not an easy task with dozens and dozens of levels. Most of my first full day here consisted of me getting lost and asking directions...to my assigned mess hall (or, "Dining Facility," as some of the Thirteens called it), to the hospital, and to Katniss's quarters on Level Two.

I was surprised to find that Katniss's quarters were barely larger than my own...only one additional room for three times the people. But, in deference to Buttercup, they did have a small, single window, set high up in the wall, which opened to the outside. And I soon discovered the simple joy of just sitting under that open window and breathing in the fresh air from outside the sterile, recycled confines of District Thirteen.

Besides, Katniss didn't have to concern herself too much with trying to live in such cramped quarters with her mother and sister. For, beginning that first night following her release from the hospital, she made it a point to spend her nights in my quarters on Level Twenty.

Sleeping two in a bed barely large enough for one is a challenge...but Katniss and I, our arms wrapped around each other, managed quite nicely. The biggest drawback was with her having to rise before first call in the morning, so that she could return to her own quarters to receive her temporary tattoo schedule. We tried using my scheduler only to find that it was set to respond only to me. I made a note to myself...just one more thing to speak to Henry about.

But that's for later.

* * *

I felt Katniss shift slightly, her arm tightening around me as she sighed softly in her sleep, and I reluctantly opened my eyes, focusing on the digital clock set into the wall. Five forty-seven. I let out a sigh of my own and slowly reach up to my face to move an errant strand of dark hair away from my nose. Katniss murmured softly and burrows her face against my shoulder.

"Katniss," I said, my voice a whisper.

"Uh uh," Katniss groans in response.

I touched her shoulder gently. "Time to wake up. Unless you _want_ Medical calling your quarters in forty-five minutes?"

"Shit," Katniss grumbled. She shifts around in bed, her head turning to face me. "Good morning," she whispers.

I smiled as I brush my lips against hers. "Good morning."

Her silvery gray eyes seemed to be searching mine. "Any nightmares?"

I shook my head. "None. You?"

Her lips curled up in a small smile. "No." She sighed heavily. "I wish we could stay in bed for just a little longer."

"Me too," I replied. "But remember what we were told during the Orientation video." All new arrivals had been required to watch the Orientation video on our first full day here. That's when we were told that we had just two days to get "settled in." After that, we could expect our daily schedule to include more than meal times, orientation, and bathing times.

"I know," Katniss grumbles again, swinging her legs out of the bed. She's wearing shorts and a tank top...her ribs are still too tender for anything "physical," so for the past two nights we've done nothing more strenuous than sleep...and then bends down, scooping up her socks and coverall off the floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stuffed her feet into her socks and then quickly slipped on her coverall, before sliding her feet into her boots.

I propped myself up on one elbow as I watched her lace up her boots. Katniss glances over at me, a mock scowl on her face. "Comfy?"

"Very." As if on cue, the "first call" alarm began to chime gently. I swing my own legs out of bed as Katniss stands up. On one leg I hopped over to the alarm control and shut it off before sinking back down onto the bed, fumbling around for my prosthetic leg. With two of us sharing such a narrow cot, it's been more comfortable for the both of us for me to remove my leg at night.

I slipped the prosthetic on, turning and locking it into place, as Katniss waits patiently by the door. Standing up, I walked the few paces to her, slipping my arms around her waist as we gave each other a quick hug and kiss.

"See you at breakfast," Katniss said softly before stepping through my open door, carefully sliding it shut behind her. As the door clicked into place, I step over to the scheduler, inserting my left arm, and push the button. I watched the light glow red for a few seconds before blinking green, and I remove my arm to see what is on my schedule for today.

 _0600 - 0700 - First Call/Wake Up - Personal Hygiene Activities_

 _0700 - 0800 - Breakfast - Dining Facility "G"_

Dining Facility "G" was my assigned Mess Hall. I ignored that. I'll go up to "A" to take my meal with Katniss, like I've done for the last two days. It was the next entry that caught my eye:

 _0800 - To Be Announced - Meeting with President Coin & Staff - Command Level - Conference Room "A"_

I sigh softly. Break time is over. I had a feeling that, as Haymitch would say; the shit is about to get real.

 **PART II**

Katniss and I showed up to the meeting five minutes early, not wanting to find out what would happen if we arrived late. I was surprised to see Boggs and Jackson there as well. Greetings are exchanged all around as we take our seats at the conference table.

"I wonder where Haymitch is?" Katniss simply shrugs her shoulders in response.

Precisely at eight o'clock President Coin entered the room, accompanied by Plutarch Heavensbee and Henry Elliott. She gave us both a quick, tight smile before taking her seat at the head of the table, with Plutarch seated to one side and Henry seated to the other.

"Thank you both for coming," Coin said, once again giving us the same tight smile. "I trust you are settling in well?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "I only got lost once coming down here today."

"You will find it easier and easier to navigate through District Thirteen, the longer you're here." Coin examined the screen on her PADD for a moment before continuing. "Well, before we get started, do you have any questions for me?"

"Just one." I glanced over at Katniss before continuing. "Where's Haymitch Abernathy? We thought that he would be a part of this meeting as well."

"Haymitch is...indisposed," Plutarch replied, somewhat cryptically.

Katniss frowned. "He wasn't injured coming out of Twelve. So what exactly do you mean by 'indisposed?'"

"Mr. Abernathy was scheduled to be present at today's meeting," Coin explained. "However, he suffered a...medical event...yesterday evening, and is currently under physician's care."

Katniss and I shared a look. "Medical event?" What exactly does that mean? Neither of us had seen Haymitch since the day after our arrival, and all I knew for sure was that he had been quartered someplace below Level Thirty.

"Haymitch is suffering from delirium tremens," Plutarch added. "It's a condition that affects people that drink more than they should. It causes hallucinations, and, in Haymitch's case, violent reactions to those hallucinations."

"Wait a minute." Katniss leaned forwards. "Are you trying to say that Haymitch got drunk and started seeing things?"

"Not at all." Coin replied in a calm, measured voice. "Possession and consumption of alcohol is forbidden in District Thirteen. The condition that affects Mr. Abernathy is brought about during alcohol withdrawal." Coin paused and glanced down at her PADD. "It was not unexpected, considering his lengthy alcohol addiction."

"Will he be okay?" I asked, concern in my voice.

"Oh, yes," Plutarch replied, almost cheerfully. "Haymitch is a tough bird, after all...and he's under the care of some really wonderful doctors!"

"Can we see him?" I gave Katniss a surprised look. Katniss isn't the sentimental type, especially when it comes to Haymitch, and her request was almost shocking...until I realized exactly why she wanted to see him.

Haymitch represents the closest thing to a constant that Katniss has in her life. Of course, she has her mother and sister, but Haymitch was something else to her entirely. He's about the farthest thing from a father figure that a person can get, but somehow he's managed to fill a void that I don't think even she knew was there. Whether she realized it or not, Haymitch had pretty much become, in his own sarcastic way, indispensable to Katniss.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," Coin replied. "Mr. Abernathy is receiving some very specific care, and the presence of his Tributes would only serve to agitate him further."

"I don't care," Katniss sets her jaws stubbornly. "I still want to see him."

"Katniss," Plutarch explained patiently, "Haymitch has been...violent...with the staff. His treatment is, I've been informed, at a critical stage. Once he gets past this stage, then we'll discuss a visit. Deal?"

Katniss nodded her head sullenly. She doesn't like it...for that matter, neither do I...but we have little choice in the matter. Coin looked at each of us in turn, and then she herself nods slightly.

"Well," she finally said, "perhaps now that you've received assurances that Haymitch Abernathy is in capable hands, we can now move on to the subject of this meeting...the Uprisings and the Second Rebellion." Coin turned to Plutarch. "Mr. Heavensbee?"

"Thank you, Madam President." Plutarch reached out to a small control panel set into the surface of the table and presses a button. A lighted map of Panem appears on the wall.

"Here's the current situation." Plutarch pressed another button, causing the districts to illuminate in different colors. "Full-scale uprisings in Districts Seven through Eleven. Unrest and civil disobedience in Districts Three, Five and Six. Business as usual in One, some rumblings out of Two, and nothing at all from Four...there's a complete blackout for some reason."

"Any speculation on what's causing the comm blackout in Four?" Boggs asked.

"None. And that's what has us worried." Plutarch rubbed his chin and lower face with his hand. "Finnick Odair is our lead with the Rebel faction in Four. Unfortunately he's had to deal with shouldering Mags' responsibilities as well, ever since her stroke last year...not to mention the problems that he's had with caring for Annie Cresta and her fragile mental state." Plutarch glanced at Coin. "Madam President, perhaps we should have sent infiltration and security teams to Four as well as to Twelve."

Coin's head shake was emphatic. "No. I made the correct decision. District Four would have been much too difficult to support logistically while conducting a clandestine op. It's too far from Thirteen, and it doesn't have the advantage that Twelve had in being located in one compact area. Finnick Odair knew the risks and accepted them, plus, he's resourceful. If anyone can evade Peacekeepers and make his way to Thirteen, it's Odair. Please continue."

Plutarch gave Coin a long look before continuing. "As you've brought up Finnick Odair, Madam President, perhaps I should update everyone on the status of the other Victors." He glanced over at Katniss and I. "I'm afraid our information is sketchy at this point. As I've said before, we have absolutely no information out of Four. The Career Victors in Districts One and Two have been making the pro-Capitol Loyalist statements that we've expected, with a few notable exceptions...namely, Gloss and Cashmere in One, and Enobaria, along with Lyme, in Two. And, I might add, Lyme has been a Rebel Victor for years. We know that she's activated her Rebel cells in Two, but that's the extent of our communication with her."

"Speculation on what's driving the silence of Gloss, Cashmere, and Enobaria?" Coin asked.

Plutarch shook his head. "None, Madam President. Perhaps they -"

"They're all whores," Katniss said softly.

Coin gave Katniss a startled look. "I beg your pardon?"

Katniss looked up at Plutarch before turning to face Coin. "Gloss, Cashmere, and Enobaria. They're all Snow's whores."

"I fail to see what -" Coin began.

"Maybe," Katniss interrupted once more, "just maybe, they've had enough. And Snow's not happy about it."

Coin stared thoughtfully at Katniss for a long moment before turning to Plutarch. "What do you think about Miss Everdeen's theory?"

Plutarch shrugged. "It has merit. And it would explain their silence. I'll see what I can find out."

Coin nodded. "Very well. Please proceed."

"We've had communication with the following Victors: Beetee Latier in District Three, Johanna Mason in Seven, Cecilia in Eight, Silky Black in Nine, and Chaff in Eleven. They, in turn, have confirmed the following Victor casualties: Wiress in Three, Blight in Seven, Woof in Eight, Cyrus Gray in Nine, and Seeder in Eleven." Plutarch paused for a moment before continuing. "Blight and Woof were killed by Rebels. The others appear to have been killed during confrontations with Peacekeepers."

"Rebels?" I asked sharply. "Are you sure?"

Plutarch nodded slowly. "Regretfully, yes. Blight and Woof were both victims of anti-Capitol mob violence...and Johanna Mason as well. Rebels in Seven torched the Victors' Village there. They said it was a symbol of the Capitol's oppression. Johanna lost her home. There have been similar attacks against Victors and their homes in Districts Five, Six, and Ten."

Katniss and I exchanged looks. From the looks of it, Victors were being targeted from both sides...Peacekeeper and Rebel alike. "This is crazy," I muttered. "From what I understand, Woof was an old man...over seventy, in fact. And you say you've been talking with Johanna in Seven and Cecilia in Eight? Does that mean that Blight and Woof were part of the Rebellion too?"

Plutarch nodded again. "Blight was. Woof...his mental state had deteriorated to the point where he could no longer function as an active member, but he'd been involved for years. Decades, even."

"Great," Katniss murmured in disgust. "Rebels are killing Rebel Victors. Peacekeepers are killing Rebel Victors. The arena is starting to sound like a safer place than the districts right now."

"Katniss, please try to understand." Plutarch paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're dealing with a mob mentality here. The attacks on Victors, and the deaths of Blight and Woof, were not orchestrated by any of the organized Rebel factions. They were killed by mob violence."

"Let's move on," Coin said impatiently. "Miss Everdeen...Mr. Mellark. Rest assured that your safety is a top priority. I'll be blunt. Neither of you is worth anything to the Rebellion dead."

 _Was that supposed to make us feel better?_ "Well, _that's_ reassuring," Katniss muttered sarcastically.

Coin pointedly ignored her as she turned toward Boggs. "Colonel?"

Boggs, nodding, stood up. "Thank you, Madam President." He pressed a button in a control panel similar to the one Plutarch had been using earlier. The map display changed colors again. "Here's the military situation. The districts in red are in full-scale Uprisings. Simply put, it's active combat between Rebel factions and Peacekeepers, with the attendant loss of life and damage to property. The districts in yellow are not in full Uprising mode...yet. Strikes, work stoppages, and public demonstrations are the order of the day in these places. As a result, curfews are being brutally enforced, arrests are commonplace, and public executions have been taking place every day since the Reaping Rebellion."

"Executions?" I asked. "What are people being executed for?"

Boggs looked grim. "Breaking curfew, assembling in groups of more than three people, being suspected agitators...things like that. The youngest person executed thus far has been an eleven-year-old boy in District Six, out after curfew."

"Eleven?" Katniss gasped in dismay. "This has been confirmed?"

Boggs turned to face Katniss. "It was televised by the Capitol."

Katniss looked stricken as she turned to me. "It's my fault. If we hadn't started this -"

"Stop right there!" Coin's voice was quiet, yet commanding at the same time. "Miss Everdeen, nothing that's happening in the rest of Panem right now is 'your fault.' Nor is it Mr. Mellark's fault. The blame is on one person, and one person alone...Coriolanus Snow. And there will be an accounting someday...I can promise you both that."

Katniss said nothing in response, but her unchanged expression told me that Coin's words had little to no effect on her. Katniss blamed herself for every atrocity that the Capitol is committing against the districts. I reached under the table and find her hand with my own and gave it a reassuring squeeze, getting a sidelong glance and a small smile in return.

Boggs was speaking again. "- situation in those districts is precarious right now." He glanced up at the colored map. "The problem right now is that each district in uprising is fighting their own battles. We haven't been able to effectively coordinate efforts, nor have we been able to offer direct support. Right now the situation in Districts Seven through Eleven is in doubt."

"What's that mean?" I asked. "'In doubt?'"

"In layman's terms," Boggs replied gravely, "it means that, as of right now, we're losing."

 **PART III**

I listlessly pushed the remains of my lunch around on my tray. I glanced over at Katniss to see that she's doing pretty much the same thing. The briefings that we've been listening to all morning had effectively killed our appetites.

We're eating in a Dining Facility located on the same level as Command. It's virtually identical to the other mess halls that I've seen here in Thirteen, except that this one was somewhat smaller. After all, Command is a "working" level...no one actually lived down here...so the noise and bustle of the "living level" mess halls was missing here.

"Power outages," Katniss muttered. "Defective computers. Trains breaking down. Is this how Coin expects to fight this war? By depending on power plant workers, and computer technicians, and train engineers to disrupt life in the Capitol?"

"There's fighting going on in five districts, Katniss," I pointed out. "Like Boggs said, Districts Three, Five and Six obviously feel like they can't join the fight right now, so they're contributing in the only way that they can."

"Shit! Peeta, weren't you listening? We're _losing_!" Katniss dropped her fork onto the tray with a clatter. "And we can't afford to -" Her voice trailed off and her eyes widen in surprise as she stared toward the double doors that mark the entrance to the mess hall.

"Oh, Snow," Katniss breathed as I spun around in my chair. Coming through the double doors was a single file of about thirty or so people, all identically dressed in jet-black coveralls, similar to the standard military-style uniforms worn here in Thirteen, with one notable exception. Each coverall had the letter "C" stenciled on the left breast pocket, with a larger "C" centered on the back.

Six soldiers were escorting the group, each armed with a pistol belted securely around their waists. I spotted a woman in the middle of the line that I recognized instantly, even though a dark gray scarf covered her head. Even without the garish clothing and outrageously colored wigs, I would have recognize the upright chin, squared shoulders, and short, precise gait to her walk anywhere.

My own eyes widened in surprise as Katniss breathes, "Effie. Effie Trinket."

* * *

Katniss leapt to her feet so quickly that her chair toppled over. "Effie!" She practically shouted. "Effie!"

Effie turned at the sound of her name and spots Katniss hurtling towards her. "Katniss?" Katniss virtually collided with Effie, wrapping her arms around our Escort's neck even as I'm rising to my feet. I saw the guard nearest Effie move forward as Effie returns Katniss's embrace, dropping one hand to an object on his pistol belt.

"Back in line, miss," the guard ordered Effie. His voice was stern but lacked any of the measured cruelty that we've always known from our dealings with many of the Peacekeepers in District Twelve.

Katniss turned toward the guard just as I reached her and Effie. "She's with us," Katniss practically snapped.

The guard ignored Katniss. "Miss Trinket," he repeated, "please get back in line. You know the rules."

"Excuse me." I stepped between the guard and Katniss, who, I could see, was about to say or do something that Plutarch would term "unfortunate." Katniss was still clinging to Effie. "We know this woman. And, like Katniss said, she's with us."

The guard glanced at me while pulling the object from his belt at the same time. "I know who you are. And I'm asking that you don't interfere."

"I'm not interfering," I pointed out calmly. I turned towards Katniss and Effie. "Hello, Effie," I said with a smile.

"Hello, Peeta," Effie replied automatically. Behind Effie, the others in line shifted uncomfortably as another guard strides toward us.

I recognized the other guard instantly. "Leeg! Am I glad to see you!"

The blonde woman stopped a step or two from us. "You're Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, from Twelve." It was a statement, not a question.

I frowned in confusion. Why is she acting like she doesn't know us? "Come on, Leeg," I heard Katniss say, "you know us!"

"Katniss," Effie warned, "she isn't the same -"

"You know my sister," the guard explained. "She was with you in Twelve, as part of the infiltration team."

I remembered Leeg speaking of a twin sister, but it's disconcerting to actually meet a twin for the first time. Twins had been a rarity in District Twelve...in fact I can't remember ever seeing any identical twin siblings there at all. Leeg had been the youngest and most approachable Thirteen that had been part of the infiltration team...I can only hope that her sister shared her temperament.

"She spoke of us to you, then," I said hopefully.

The blonde woman nodded. "Oh, yes." She turned to the guard. "You can stand down, Soldier...and secure your stunner. I doubt if it will be needed."

"Yes, Corporal," the guard muttered, as he slid the object back into the holster on his belt.

Corporal Leeg turned back toward us. "Now, as far as Miss Trinket being 'with you,' I'm afraid that she must stay with the group during meal times. However, you may join her at her table, if you wish."

"We do wish," Katniss said coldly. I noticed that she's still clutching Effie's arm.

Corporal Leeg smiled for the first time. "Fine. Let me get everyone through the serving line. You can join your friend once I have them all seated. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," I replied with a nod.

* * *

"Conditioning?" Katniss asked, surprise in her voice.

"That's what they call it," Effie replied softly, the bitterness evident in her voice. "Ever since our arrival in this dungeon. They confiscated our clothing and gave us _this_ -" she pointed to her black coverall "- to wear." Effie sliced off a piece of processed meat, spearing it with her fork, and popped it in her mouth, chewing delicately. "Another word that they use is 're-education.' Well! I, for one, am quite well educated already! And I _don't_ need to see pictures of starving children in District Eight, or holo-videos of floggings in District Ten!" Effie dropped her knife and fork and dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. "I find such things to be _quite_ distressing!"

"That's the idea," a woman's voice said from behind us. I turned to see Corporal Leeg, her hands clasped behind her back, walking slowly between the rows of tables. "It's supposed to upset you. It's supposed to make you Capitolites think!"

"Of course," a new voice chimed in, "because, as we all know, us Capitolites are incapable of thinking for ourselves." The sarcastic tone was not lost on any of us, and I found myself suppressing a smile.

"Doctor," Corporal Leeg said, with infinite patience, "your resistance is only making things harder on you." She eyed the other Capitolites seated at the table, her face set in a stern mask. The only other one that I recognized was the woman from the Tribute Train that Haymitch had referred to as "Duchess." The rest were Train Attendants or employees of the District Twelve Capitol Liaison office.

"I agree with Miss Trinket," the Doctor sniffed. "The only thing that subjecting us to that continuing horror show does is cause us to lose our appetites. It's not 'resistance,' Corporal...it's disgust! And if you people would just stop and think for one minute about what the Capitol would do to us if we were somehow liberated..."

"We've heard it all before, Doctor," Corporal Leeg replied stiffly.

"Wait a minute," I said, turning to Effie. "What's he talking about, Effie?"

"If...if one or more of us managed to escape, or was liberated by Peacekeepers," Effie replied in a soft voice, "chances are, we would most likely be imprisoned by the Capitol as potential security risks...that is, if we weren't summarily executed on the spot."

Executed? Imprisoned? "They would do that?" I didn't even attempt to keep the astonishment out of my voice.

"Did you ever wonder, young man," the Doctor replied, "why there is almost no fraternization between Capitol officials and district residents?" He didn't wait for me to respond. "Well, I'll tell you. The Capitol has always been very careful to cultivate the image that we are somehow superior to you district people. In fact, if a Capitol citizen was observed getting too 'close' to a district resident, he or she would be immediately transferred to another post...or taken back to the Capitol for 'retraining' if the authorities believed that the 'contamination' was too great."

"It's true, Peeta," Effie added. "The only exceptions were those of us working for the Games...Escorts, Stylists, and Prep Teams. We were expected to bond with our Tributes."

"Yes, but...executions?" I sputtered. Katniss said nothing, but the horrified look on her face spoke volumes. She's imagining the same thing that I was...Effie, kneeling, hands bound, while a Peacekeeper puts a bullet into the back of her head.

"Think about it, young Victor," the Doctor continued. "We...all of us -" he indicated the other Capitolites in the mess hall "- have, in the eyes of the government, been contaminated beyond measure. We've witnessed an Uprising, we've been shot at, and we've seen District Twelve bombed into smoking rubble. We've also seen countless acts of selflessness and courage displayed by the very people that we've always been taught to be inferior to us."

His voice dropped as he stared down at his tray. "How can anyone have seen what we've witnessed over the last few days and truly say that they have not been changed?"

Corporal Leeg was obviously unmoved by the Doctor's words. "Be that as it may, Doctor, but the people you need to convince are not sitting in front of you. And, until you are no longer deemed a threat -"

"Threat," Effie repeated bitterly. "As if I can be a threat to anyone while wearing _this_!" She held up her left leg and pulled the cuff of her coverall trousers up her calf, revealing a metal shackle. A green light was glowing softly on one side of the shackle.

"What the fuck is _that_?" Katniss whispered.

"It's an ankle tracker," Corporal Leeg replied, almost angrily. "It alerts us if a confinee wanders out of their designated area."

"Oh, Corporal," the Doctor admonished gently, "it does so much _more_ than that! You see, Victors, this device emits a beeping sound and causes a tingling sensation in the leg if we get within three meters of our set boundaries. And if we should cross that boundary it hits us with a strong electrical charge, stunning us long enough for security to arrive."

I glanced once more at Effie's leg before turning back to Corporal Leeg, who regarded me coolly for a moment. "It's a standard restraint device that we use here in Thirteen. In this manner, we don't have to waste valuable space on confinement facilities."

"And it's quite effective," the Doctor added dryly. "If you need proof, you only need to ask your friend Cinna."

Katniss's eyes narrowed at the mention of Cinna's name and she whirled back around to face Corporal Leeg. "What about Cinna? Where is he? I haven't seen him at all since arriving here!"

"There was an incident last night," Leeg explained reluctantly. "Cinna and the others on his team were involved. They were taken to another place."

"What 'incident?' What other place?" Katniss demanded angrily.

Corporal Leeg glanced at Katniss's forearm for a moment, reading her daily schedule. "I don't have that information. Perhaps you should ask President Coin when you return to your meeting with her following the noon meal."

"I intend to do just that!" Katniss snapped.

I have a strong feeling that Haymitch's saying about the "shit getting real" was about to come true once Katniss and I returned to the meeting.

 **PART IV**

"Welcome back." Plutarch stood up from his place at the conference table as orderlies cleared away the remnants of a meal. "We would have joined you at lunch, but we had some other issues to discuss." He gave us a quick smile. "It's what's known as a 'working lunch.' I trust you were able to find the Command level Dining Facility?"

Katniss ignored Plutarch's pleasantries. She leaned forward, the palms of her hands flat against the table, and glared at President Coin. "Where are Cinna and my Prep Team?"

Coin gazed calmly back at Katniss. "I beg your pardon?"

"Cinna...my Stylist...and Venia, Flavius, and Octavia...my Prep Team. Where are they?" Katniss demanded.

Coin glanced uncertainly at Plutarch. "Why do you ask, Katniss?" Plutarch asked.

"We saw Effie at lunch today," Katniss replied flatly. "Along with the Doctor and the other Capitolites that came along with us. They were under heavy guard and were all wearing some sort of shock shackle on their legs. The Doctor told us that something happened with Cinna and the others last night, and I want to know where they are!"

"Miss Everdeen." Coin spoke carefully, choosing each word deliberately. "The security of District Thirteen is my responsibility. We didn't expect the influx of Capitol citizens...all of whom must be considered as security threats until they are cleared. And, whether you understand it or not, a state of war exists between the Capitol and us. And until we are satisfied that all Capitol citizens have been properly conditioned, these security measures will remain in place."

"What about Plutarch?" Katniss glanced up at the former Assistant Head Gamemaker, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger. " _He's_ a Capitolite! Why isn't _he_ locked up with the others?"

"Mr. Heavensbee has been an integral member of the Rebellion for many years, as is your film crew, now lead by Resident Director Messalla," Coin explained calmly. "There was no need to further question his loyalties...or those of Messalla, Castor, or Pollux."

"And they all worked _with_ Cinna in planning for the Rebellion!" Katniss glared at Plutarch. "So why is Cinna suddenly considered disloyal to the cause?"

"The decision to include your Prep Team was made at the last minute," Plutarch explained. "And only under the condition that they undergo re-education upon their arrival here." Plutarch paused for a moment. "In truth, Cinna wouldn't leave without your Prep Team. Neither would Portia, for that matter...although _that_ point is rather moot now. Cinna was concerned over the repercussions that they would face from Snow if they were left behind."

"Answer the question, Plutarch!" Katniss snapped.

Plutarch glanced at Coin, who shrugs. "Tell her."

"Very well, Madam President," Plutarch replied, before turning back toward Katniss. "Out of loyalty to his people, Cinna insisted on remaining with the Prep Team, even through their conditioning and re-education. There was an incident last night. Apparently Octavia tried to sneak back into the Command Dining Facility and was stunned when she went out of bounds. Cinna and the others were taken into custody when they objected to her arrest and attempted to interfere."

"And just when were you planning on telling us all this?" Katniss's voice trembled with anger.

"It wasn't relevant to our meeting today," Coin replied smoothly. "You needed to be brought up to date on the state of the Rebellion, and this afternoon was to be discussion on the role that you and Mr. Mellark are to perform to further the cause."

"Not relevant?" I asked in amazement. "You've got our Escort locked up and Katniss's Stylist, along with her Prep Team, arrested for...what the hell _were_ they arrested for?"

"Octavia was attempting to steal food," Boggs replied. I glanced over at him in surprise. This was the first he'd spoken since our return from lunch. "Plus, she was out of bounds. The others were obstructing our security detail."

"Well, I think that's all pretty _fucking_ relevant," Katniss said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "And, just exactly what is the 'role' that you expect Peeta and I to 'perform?'"

"You're the Mockingjay, Katniss," Plutarch explained patiently. "I thought that you understood all this. You and Peeta are the faces of the Rebellion. We're planning on recording some propaganda pieces...propos...for broadcast in the districts, and the Capitol as well, if possible, as inspiration to the Rebel forces throughout Panem."

"And you need us to cooperate in order to get these 'propos' recorded?" I asked.

"I was given to understand that your cooperation was already assured," Coin replied tightly.

"I want them released," Katniss insisted flatly. "Effie...Cinna...my Prep Team. All of them. Now."

"Out of the question," Coin replies flatly. She turned to Henry. "Find out who ordered the confinees fed while the Victors were using the same Dining Facility, and have them report to Colonel Boggs for 'counseling.'"

"Yes, ma'am," Henry replied softly, tapping on his PADD.

Katniss was practically shaking with anger. I stood up, placing my hand on her shoulder. "Plutarch, the Doctor told us that all of the Capitol citizens would be either imprisoned or executed outright if they were to fall back under Capitol control. Is this true?"

Plutarch nodded. "The Capitol has always been concerned about 'district contamination.' Something like this...yes. Absolutely."

"If that's the case," Boggs slowly said, "then it means that all of the Capitol citizens, as well as the Rebel Peacekeepers, are basically stateless. They don't belong anywhere."

"What about the Rebel Peacekeepers?" I asked Boggs. I just now realized that I didn't see either Darius or Purnia during lunch, nor have I seen them since arriving in Thirteen.

Boggs glanced at Coin, who waved her hand in the air resignedly. "Go ahead, Colonel."

"Yes, Madam President," he replied. Turning back to us, he explained, "The Rebel Peacekeepers, along with Silenus Festuca, are being examined by Special Intelligence. Their clearance process is, from all reports, going well."

"Why Festuca?" I asked.

Boggs looked at me, his gaze steady. "He's a former Peacekeeper, and also from District Two."

"Colonel?" Jackson spoke for the first time today. "Sir, I fought beside Darius Potter, as well as Festuca and Purnia. They are just as committed to this as we are."

"I made that decision, Lieutenant," Coin said coldly. "For the good of District Thirteen."

"President Coin," Katniss said, her voice tightly controlled, "These people are my friends. You say that you made the decisions to lock them up. Well, I can make decisions as well." Katniss paused and took a deep breath. "If you want my cooperation, you will release them from confinement. Once they are released, I will be your 'Mockingjay.' That's my promise to you. I will give you my full cooperation. But only after they're released."

President Coin's lips compressed into a thin, angry line. I turned to face Coin. "I'm with Katniss, ma'am," I said respectfully. "What she said goes for me as well."

Coin rose slowly to her feet. "This meeting is adjourned until zero eight hundred tomorrow morning. Until then, Miss Everdeen...Mr. Mellark...you are to limit yourselves to your quarters and to your assigned Dining Facility." She smiled humorlessly. "That would be your 'own' quarters, Miss Everdeen." She turned to Plutarch and Boggs. "Gentlemen, please come with me...and you as well, Soldier Elliott. Lieutenant Jackson, please escort our Victors back to their quarters."

Katniss, Jackson and I watched as Coin and the others strode out of the conference room. After they were gone, Jackson turned to Katniss. "You have a real talent for pissing people off, Everdeen," she said with a rueful grin.

"Well, do you think what she's doing is right?" Katniss replied defensively.

"That's not for me to decide," Jackson said softly. "Come on. I gotta get you back home. And, Katniss -" Katniss turned toward Jackson "- stay in your own quarters tonight. President Coin wasn't making a suggestion."

"And what if I don't?" Katniss asked defiantly as we made our way toward a nearby bank of elevators.

"Then," Jackson replied slowly, "I think you'll be able to spend a lot of time with your Capitol friends...with a stunner clamped around your leg. You may be the Mockingjay, but President Coin won't hesitate to remind you that _she's_ in charge here...not you."

Neither Katniss nor I said anything more on the elevator ride to the living levels. When the elevator stopped on Level Twenty, Katniss grabbed me as the doors slide open, kisses me deeply, and whispers, "Remember the last person that told us that we couldn't see each other."

I watched the doors slide shut as the elevator resumed its climb. Oh, yes. I remember very well. President Coriolanus Snow had issued the same edict to me almost a year ago. And, as I walked to my quarters, one thought remained uppermost in my mind.

 _Coin will do whatever it takes to show us that she's in charge here. WHATEVER it takes._

And I felt real fear grip my belly. Not for me.

The fear I felt was for Katniss Everdeen, who, by her very nature, has a real problem buckling under authority figures. And Coin was definitely an authority figure. And, if Coin and Katniss butt heads, Coin will most certainly win.

And, if Coin wins, that means that Katniss loses...and the stakes will most likely be her life.

And that is a price that I'm not prepared to pay.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

 **PART I**

 _"Grandpa?"_

 _Coriolanus Snow looked up from the document that he had been reading, an expression of annoyance briefly flitting across his face, only to be quickly replaced by a warm, genuine smile._

 _"Yes, Andromeda?"_

 _The girl stood in the doorway to Snow's personal study, fidgeting slightly. "I'm sorry to bother you...I know you've told me before to never bother you in here, but -"_

 _"It's quite all right, Andromeda." Snow lays his pen down on his ornately carved mahogany desk and deliberately closes the file cover of the document that he had been reading. Wearily, he rubs his fingers over his eyes, and then sits back in his high-backed chair. "Come in, my dear." He beckoned her in with one hand. "Your timing is perfect. I need a break from my daily minutiae -" he patted the folder as he said this "- so I will overlook your entering my inner sanctum." He said this last with another smile. "Is something troubling you, child?" Snow added._

 _Andromeda Snow slipped into the room, sliding into a straight-backed chair in front of Snow's desk. "It...it's about the Games, Grandpa."_

 _Snow slowly and deliberately steepled his fingers, resting his chin on their tips as he gazed at his granddaughter. "What about the Games, Andromeda?"_

 _Andromeda shifted around uncomfortably in the hard chair before speaking again. "I've heard that they...well, that they were cancelled this year. Is that true?"_

 _Snow hesitated before replying to Andromeda's question. "The Games are merely delayed, Andromeda. They will be rescheduled to a later date."_

 _"When?"_

 _Another look of annoyance crossed Snow's face. "Andromeda, that's not a question that I can answer right now," he replied sharply, and then immediately regretted his tone when he saw the look of dismay flicker across his granddaughter's face. "There have been some problems in the districts," he went on in a much softer tone. "But once the districts are calmer and these issues have been...settled...then we'll work on rescheduling the Games."_

 _Andromeda's eyes dropped to her lap as she asked in a soft voice, "Does that mean that Peeta and Katniss will be coming here as Mentors?"_

Mentors to what? _Snow thought._ District Twelve is dead. But, if my suspicions are correct, and the Reaping Day Uprising _was_ , in fact, orchestrated by District Thirteen, rather than merely _supported_ by those separatists, then perhaps it's time that Thirteen be assimilated back into Panem...once this ill-advised Rebellion has been crushed once and for all. _Snow nodded slightly in satisfaction._ And I can think of no greater punishment than to force Katniss Everdeen to Mentor her own beloved sister...after, of course, she witnesses the executions of Haymitch Abernathy and Peeta Mellark.

 _"Of course, Andromeda," Snow finally replied with another smile. "After all, what would the Games be without Victors returning here to Mentor their newest Tributes?"_

 _Andromeda's eyes light up as a relieved smile crossed her face. "So they_ will _be coming here?"_

 _"I can guarantee it," Snow said reassuringly._ Oh, yes. Those three traitors _will_ appear before me, securely shackled as prisoners, as enemies of the Republic. I know they're alive and well in District Thirteen. Our operatives there have confirmed that. _Snow glanced at Andromeda's hopeful face and he gives her a reassuring smile._ It's a pity that I must disappoint Andromeda by executing the Mellark boy. In time she will understand that being President of Panem bears great responsibility.

 _"Thank you, Grandpa!" Andromeda leapt from her chair and she skipped around the massive desk to hug Snow tightly. Snow awkwardly returned the gesture, patting his granddaughter lightly on her back._

 _"You're quite welcome, Andromeda," Snow said warmly, gently disengaging himself from the girl's embrace. "We'll talk later. Run along, now, and let me return to my duties."_

 _Snow watched fondly as Andromeda skipped out of his study._ That girl is the one true light in my life, _he thought, as his eyes dropped to the folder on his desk. He sighed softly, picking up his pen and opening the folder, and quickly re-reads the document. In large, bold letters across the top, the words_ **ORDER OF EXECUTION** _leaped off the page. Snow quickly scanned the remainder of the document, nodding in satisfaction, and then signs his name with a flourish at the bottom._

Perhaps, _Snow thought as he carefully closed the folder,_ watching the televised execution of Peeta Mellark's Stylist and Prep Team will shake up the Blood-Soaked Lovers of District Twelve just a bit.

* * *

 _"Well, that's not what_ I _heard."_

 _Andromeda sighed impatiently as she glared at Sperantia Blackstone. She and Sperantia had been best friends for as long as Andromeda could remember. Sperantia's father was the Minister of Security in her Grandpa's cabinet, so Grandpa considered her to be an "appropriate" friend for Andromeda to have. Andromeda, however, had no interest in politics. All she knew was that she was closer to Sperantia than she was to her own father...closer, in fact, to anyone with the exception of her Grandpa._

 _"Go on, Speri," Andromeda urged her friend. "What did you hear?"_

 _The two girls were sitting cross-legged on Andromeda's massive bed. Sperantia leaned forward, tucking a stray lock of her jet-black hair behind one ear, and said conspiratorially, "I overheard my father talking on the phone the night that it happened. Twelve is_ gone _, Meda! My father personally ordered the hovercraft to bomb it!"_

 _"I don't believe you," Andromeda replied lamely. District Twelve just couldn't be_ gone _. Of course, Andromeda knew about the news blackouts following the Reaping Day Uprising, but, in spite of ugly rumors that she had heard, she had found it impossible to believe that Katniss Everdeen_ or _Peeta Mellark had anything to do with the problems there, even though she had personally heard Katniss's speech that ignited the Uprising in Twelve._

 _Sperantia sighed in disgust. "Oh, Meda. You are such a_ child _sometimes! I'm telling you, my father_ ordered _the attack, on the orders of_ your _grandfather!"_

 _Andromeda said nothing._ Could it be true? _Grandpa acted like the Uprisings that had taken place in District Twelve, and continued to take place in other districts, were nothing more than a minor, ill-timed annoyance. He had said that the Games were just delayed, and he all but promised that Katniss and Peeta would be coming to the Capitol to Mentor the latest batch of Tributes from Twelve._

 _But...what if what Sperantia was saying was the truth? What if Twelve_ had _been bombed? There hadn't been any news out of Twelve since the Reaping Day Uprising. And, in spite of Grandpa's reassurances, Andromeda had noticed that he had been working much longer hours than normal, and that there was a steady stream of high-ranking government officials coming in and out of the Palace...including Sperantia's father, Minister Blackstone._

It wouldn't be the first time that things were kept from me, _she thought._ I'm so sick of being treated like a child! _"Suppose you're right," Andromeda said slowly. "What happened to Katniss and Peeta?"_

 _Sperantia leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I overheard my father say that they probably got away. A lot of Twelves got away, and some people from Capitol Liaison also. They had help." Sperantia pauses for a moment. "People with guns."_

 _"Guns?" That made no sense to Andromeda. Peacekeepers had guns. Grandpa's security had guns. But just regular people didn't have guns. It was against the law. Possession of_ any _sort of weapon was punishable by death. "Where could they get guns?"_

 _Sperantia shrugged. "Who knows? I overheard my father say that they had help from some traitor Peacekeepers. But others had guns there too." Sperantia's face softened. "Meda, I know how close you are to your grandfather. But he's not telling you everything. There won't be any Games this year. This is more serious than what the Holo broadcasts are saying. I'm only telling you this because you're my best friend."_

 _"I know, Speri." Andromeda leans forward, hugging her friend tightly. "Thanks for being my friend."_

 _"Well,_ someone _has to!" Sperantia smiled warmly at the other girl. "Hey, enough talk about Uprisings and Rebellions and shit. Check this out." Sperantia pulled her black hair away from the side of her throat, exposing an ornate flowered tattoo there. "I got this the day before yesterday. Awesome, huh?"_

 _Andromeda examined the tattoo closely, complimenting her friend. But she couldn't stop thinking about Katniss and Peeta, and the rest of District Twelve._ Grandpa always said that all the districts work together to support _all_ of Panem. But if that's true, then why did the people in Twelve live in shacks, and why did they eat rats? Was _that_ why they were angry? Was that why there was an Uprising? And why were Katniss and Peeta involved? They were _Victors!_ They weren't poor or starving anymore!

 _And later, that night, long after Sperantia had gone home, when Andromeda was lying awake, staring up into the darkness, she came to the conclusion that someone was not telling her the truth about the way things_ really _were in Panem. The only problem was, she didn't know_ who _was lying. Was it Katniss and Peeta, or Sperantia?_

 _Or was it her beloved grandfather?_

 **PART II**

"Wakey, wakey!"

I awakened instantly at the sound of the playful voice. I blinked my eyes several times, trying to clear the sleep from them as I looked around the dimly lit room in an attempt to locate the source of the voice.

The source, as it turned out, was perched on the end of my bed. I had risen up on one elbow while searching for the person that had spoken. Now I collapsed back onto the thin mattress with a groan.

"Hello, Gamma," I muttered. Shit. Part of me had hoped that I was through being visited by my former ally. And another part of me was glad that she was here.

"Well, nice to see you, too, asshole!" Gamma snapped. She stood up from her seat on the end of the bed, smoothing down her shapeless Community Home dress. "And here I thought you'd be _glad_ to see me after all this time!"

"Give it up, Gamma," a new voice chimed in. Gale Hawthorne stepped out of the shadows, fixing me with an icy glare. "Can't you see he's less than thrilled that we're here?"

"Look," I sputtered, "I'm just surprised, that's all. We've been having a rough time of it here. Things...things aren't how I thought they'd be, that's all."

"Yeah, we figured," Gamma replied with a smirk. She quickly glanced around the room. "By the way, nice place you got here."

"I'll say," Gale added. " _Much_ nicer than that musty old house in Victors' Village." He paused, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then again, _that_ house is nothing but a pile of ash now."

I sat up all the way, swinging my legs off the bed. I reached down, fumbling for my prosthetic, finding it after a moment or two and then snapping it into place. "Look," I muttered, "if you came here to gloat and give me shit, you can leave now. I'm not in the mood."

"What's the matter, Mellark?" Gale smirked. "Not used to sleeping alone?"

Now it's my turn to glare at Gale. "As a matter of fact, Hawthorne -"

"That's enough!" Gamma shouted. "Townie, look," she went on in a softer voice, "we didn't come here to fight with you."

"Then maybe you should tell me why you _are_ here," I snapped, as Gale and I continued to glare at each other.

"To give you news," Gamma replied quietly. "Your brother and his wife, and Cressida...even your mother...they all passed over, just like your father and Quinn did."

So much had happened recently that I scarcely had time to think about my family. My father and I had always been close, and I had learned that I could still love him even when I had been angry with him. And Quinn...I had never been especially close with either of my brothers, but Quinn and I had been the closest in age. His death had hit me hard...almost as hard as Poppa's.

But hearing Gamma talk about my mother and brother...that's when it really hit home. They were gone also. Gone in the inferno that had engulfed District Twelve. I felt tightness in my chest as a wave of emotion washed over me. I hadn't thought about what had happened in District Twelve...in fact, I hadn't _allowed_ myself to think about it. And it wasn't just about my mother, brother, and my brother's wife. My Aunt Rooba, my father's older sister, who had run the butcher shop for as long as I could remember, along with her two sons and one daughter...my cousins...didn't make it out of the district before the bombs fell. I was the last surviving member of my family.

"Thanks," I muttered. The last. I was the last. I wish I could have cried. Instead, I just felt empty inside, like someone had opened me up and poured my feelings out. _Was I becoming something that I never wanted to be? Was I getting so accustomed to death that even the deaths of family members don't move me anymore?_

"There's something else," Gale said grudgingly.

I glanced up at Gale, fighting to keep my face a neutral mask. "What?"

"She's the key."

My brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"She's the key," Gale recited. "Look to the stars, and never lose Hope."

"That doesn't make any sense!" I snapped angrily.

"Hey, Mellark, don't get all pissy with me!" Gale glowered at me. "I'm just delivering a message here!"

"A message?" I parroted. "A message from who?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, who told you to say it?"

"I don't know!" Gale snapped. "Just 'She's the key. Look to the stars, and never lose Hope!'"

"'She's the key?' Is it about Katniss?" I asked.

"No," Gale replied, his voice suddenly subdued. "No, it's not about Katniss."

"We have to go, Townie," Gamma added. "Look, you're smart. You'll figure it out."

"It doesn't mean anything to me," I muttered. "And I'm supposed to just 'figure it out?'"

"You'll understand eventually," Gale said, and then added, "and look...sorry I gave you shit earlier. About Katniss, I mean. I know you're doing right by her."

"It's okay," I murmured. I realized then how hard it must be for Gale, sitting in his twilight world, not able to communicate with Katniss...or could he?

"Before you go, I have to ask you both something," I suddenly said.

Gamma, who had been examining the scheduler, pulled her arm from the recess in the wall and turned back toward me. "What?"

"Why me?" I asked.

"Why you, what?" Gale responded quizzically.

"Am I the only one that you two..." I left the rest unspoken.

"Haunt?" Gamma finished with a smirk. "As a matter of fact, yeah."

"But why just me?" I turned to Gale. "I would think that you would want to communicate with Katniss, and -"

"It don't work that way," Gale interrupted. "Look, don't you think I _want_ to talk to her?"

I glanced first at Gale, then back at Gamma. "I don't understand. _Why_ am I the only one?"

"Remember the end of your Games?" Gamma asked. "When the hovercraft picked you up? You almost _died_ , Townie. In fact, you did die...at least for a few seconds. But that was enough."

"Enough? Enough for what?" I asked almost plaintively.

"You've been there. You've been to our side." Gale explained patiently. "Cressida, before she finally finished dying, she was like you. One foot with the living, the other with...us. She wanted to go back, but there was nothing we could do. She fought it. That's why she hung on to life as long as she did."

"But if she'd managed to go back, she'd be like you," Gamma added. "She'd be able to see us and talk to us just like you can."

"But you said that she 'passed over,' whatever that means," I pointed out. "Does that mean that she's somewhere else?"

"Yeah," Gale nodded, before adding wistfully, "Gamma and I will be there someday too. We're here because we have unfinished business."

"What kind of 'unfinished business?'" I asked.

Gamma smiled. "You and Katniss." She placed her hand on my forehead and pushed gently, forcing me back onto my narrow bed. "Go back to sleep, now, Townie. Remember what we told you. We'll stop by again soon."

* * *

The sound of the first call alarm jolted me awake. I forced my eyes open and stumbled out of bed, nearly falling flat on my face when I stood up, not realizing until that moment that I wasn't wearing my prosthetic. I could have sworn I put it on during Gale and Gamma's visit. I don't recall taking it off after they left. In fact, I don't remember them even leaving.

Almost angrily I shut off the first call alarm, before hopping back to the bed to snap my prosthetic in place. "'She's the key,'" I mumbled as I pulled my clothes on. "'Look to the stars, and never lose Hope.'" I shake my head angrily as I clomp over to the scheduler to get my daily schedule inked onto my forearm. "What the fuck does all that mean? And who is 'she' if not Katniss?"

I desperately wanted answers, but I knew that I wasn't going to get them today. According to my schedule, I have been summoned back to Command. It had been several days since Katniss and I had been virtually placed under "house arrest," our daily activities limited to meals...in our own separate mess halls...and mundane, make-work tasks designed, it seemed, more to keep us busy...and apart from each other...than anything else. I had been pulling kitchen duty since our blow up with President Coin. Snow only knows what Katniss had been assigned to do.

But all that was changing today. But first, as I slid my door shut behind me and headed off to my assigned mess hall, breakfast...with its inevitable stewed turnips...awaited me.

 **PART III**

Jackson appeared at my breakfast table at exactly seven forty-five, just as I was mopping up the last of my stewed turnips with a slice of bread. As I chewed the tasteless offering, I lamented the fact that the cooks had refused to take any of my suggestions for improving the taste (or lack thereof) of any of their baked goods.

The mess hall was crowded, but I had a table to myself. Word of Katniss and I defying President Coin had spread, and no one wanted to be infected by actually sitting with one of the troublemakers. Jackson, apparently, had no such qualms. She marched up to my table; pulled out the chair opposite me, reversed it, and sat down, legs straddling the chair seat as she leaned forward, resting her arms on the chair back.

She nodded towards my tray. "How's breakfast?"

I drained the last of my water, setting the glass down carefully before answering. "Edible." I stand up, picking up my tray, along with my glass and utensils. "A little tea would be nice every now and then, though."

Jackson stood up as well, falling in step next to me as I carry the remains of my breakfast to the tray rack. "There's no nutritional value in tea. Same with coffee. We don't see either unless we're performing some task that may require a caffeine boost."

I slid my tray into the rack with a bang. "Like fighting a war, perhaps?"

Jackson doesn't reply. "Come on," she said flatly as we leave the mess hall. "I'm here to escort you to Command."

I said nothing until we're in the elevator and the car begins its descent to the Command Level. "I got my schedule this morning. I wasn't aware that I needed an escort."

"Perhaps," Jackson replied slowly, "you could try showing a little gratitude towards President Coin, instead of you and Katniss trying to subvert her authority at every turn."

"Is that what you think we're doing?" My hand slammed against the "STOP" button, and the elevator lurches to a halt between floors.

Jackson lunged forward, her hand reaching out for the "START" button, but I stepped to one side, effectively blocking her way. "Get out of the way," she ordered sharply.

"Listen to me first." I could see Jackson tense, and for a moment I'm afraid that I've overstepped my bounds. "Jackson. One minute. Please."

Jackson hesitated for a second or two before replying. "Talk." I watched as she slowly relaxes before speaking again.

"Don't think that we aren't grateful," I said quickly. "But you've known this way of life for, well, your entire life. You can't expect us to just accept it like you do. And it's all the shit that's been dumped on us...not wanting us to give Cressida a funeral, treating Effie, Cinna, and the rest like criminals...shit, even separating Katniss and I. We're not soldiers, Jackson. We never will be soldiers. We want the same thing that you, and Boggs, and even President Coin want...a free Panem. But there has to be some compromise!"

Jackson stood quietly the whole time I was talking, waiting until I was finished before she spoke. "Are you done?"

I nod as I stepped away from the elevator control panel. "Yeah."

Jackson punched the "START" button and the elevator lurched into motion again. "Don't think that I don't understand you," she said as we continue our descent. "I do, in a way that only Homes, Leeg, and Mitchell can relate to. But you need to understand _us_. And you never will if you, Katniss, and the rest keep fighting our system here. Compromise works two ways." The elevator sighed to a stop as we reach the Command Level and Jackson slides the doors open with a metallic clang. "And, just so you know," she added as we step out into the corridor, "I miss tea also."

I turned and glanced sharply at her, only to see her expression unchanged. "Come on," she said, beckoning me to follow. "We have a meeting to go to."

* * *

Jackson and I arrived in the Conference Room to find Katniss and Boggs already there. It didn't surprise me that Boggs had been sent to escort Katniss. And, even though it had been several days since Katniss and I had seen each other, we limited our greetings to smiles and whispered questions of "are you okay?" The significance of both of us being escorted to this meeting was not lost on either one of us. A clear message had been sent by President Coin to us both - "I'm in charge here."

We didn't have time for any small talk before the meeting. President Coin arrived seconds after Jackson and I, accompanied by her assistant, Henry Elliott, along with Plutarch Heavensbee, Plutarch's assistant Fulvia Cardew, and a fourth attendee...Haymitch Abernathy.

 _Haymitch really looks like shit,_ I thought as the quintet stepped to the table. Haymitch didn't say anything, but made eye contact with both Katniss and I, giving each of us a small, quick grin. Katniss and I acknowledge Haymitch with small nods as Coin pulls her chair out and sets her PADD and a small paper notebook and pen on the table to her front.

"Please be seated," she said quietly, lowering herself into her chair.

There's a brief scraping of chair legs on the concrete floor as we all quickly settled in to our assigned seats. I couldn't help but notice that Katniss had Boggs seated to her immediate right, while Jackson took the chair to my immediate left. Apparently, our escorts were there to ensure our best behavior.

I reach my right hand under the table and find Katniss's left hand. Her fingers immediately twine with mine as she gives my hand a strong, quick squeeze. It's the first direct contact that I've had with her since the day of our last meeting here. Her hand is warm in mine.

"Alright then," Coin said quietly. "Let's get started." She turned in her chair and faced Katniss and I. "We're faced with situations that we didn't anticipate." She paused for a moment, looking down at her notepad, before continuing. "After the events known in the districts as the Dark Days, we here in Thirteen were cut off from the rest of Panem. From the very beginning, we had to learn how to fend for ourselves for everything. And, against all odds, we survived. And discipline is the only reason _why_ we survived. Discipline is ingrained in every resident of District Thirteen from birth."

Coin sat back in her chair and regarded Katniss and I solemnly. "When we decided that the time was right to re-ignite the Rebellion, we knew that we would need the support of all the other districts. But, as a result of our isolation from the rest of Panem, we weren't prepared for the issues that would arise from entering into alliances outside of our own, insulated world here...that is, until we were forced to assimilate two thousand refugees from District Twelve."

Coin paused for a moment, picking up a water glass that was set before her and taking a long swallow before continuing. "As President of District Thirteen, I'm accustomed to having my orders obeyed, without question and to the letter." She looked pointedly at Katniss and I as she said this. _Oh, shit,_ I thought, _here it comes._

"The residents of District Thirteen are, from birth, conditioned to discipline and immediate obedience to higher authority," she continued. "It's the only way that we have been able to survive all these many years as a completely autonomous district. You Twelves, however, have demonstrated a remarkable _lack_ of discipline as well as an almost pathological distrust of authority."

As she spoke I could feel Katniss tense up next to me. I give her hand another squeeze in an attempt to both reassure her and to warn her at the same time. _Not here, not now, Katniss. Let's hear her out._

"I make these points, not to be critical of the residents of the former District Twelve," Coin added, "but to reinforce the fact that there are differences between our two districts. Differences that the rest of the command staff and I did not adequately plan for. Add in the wild cards of the Capitol expatriates, as well as the Rebel Peacekeepers and the transportation specialists from District Six...well, you can see that we have a collision of worlds that we didn't anticipate."

As Coin paused again, Plutarch Heavensbee spoke up. "I'd like to add that the destruction of District Twelve was something that we never seriously planned for. We had anticipated a very strong response from President Snow...reprisals against the remaining populace, a virtual occupation of Twelve by Peacekeepers, and even a ground attack against the Rebel elements that escaped. We had known that there was a chance, of course, that Snow would order such an extreme response, but we thought that the chances of him actually ordering such a response were slim. We were wrong."

"Which brings me to another point," Coin added. "We had not anticipated that the refugee numbers would be as high as they are. This has caused a further strain on our resources here." I watched as Coin paused again and ran one hand over her eyes wearily. It was then that I noticed the heavy black circles under her eyes, and for a moment I almost felt sorry for her.

"Anyway," Coin continues, "back to the subject at hand. For the past several days, I have been in conference with both Colonel Boggs and Mr. Heavensbee, along with Mr. Abernathy -" she inclined her head towards Haymitch, who raised one hand laconically "- since yesterday, and we are all in agreement that, in light of our current circumstances and taking our inherent differences into account, that some compromise is in order." She turned toward Plutarch. "Mr. Heavensbee?"

Plutarch cleared his throat noisily before turning toward Katniss and I. "The Capitol expatriates, along with the Rebel Peacekeepers, shall be immediately released from re-education confinement for integration into District Thirteen." At this announcement Katniss and I both gasped audibly. This was a complete surprise to us both.

"They will be issued standard District Thirteen uniforms," Plutarch continued. "They _will_ continue to wear their ankle bracelets with the stun feature disabled. Their movements within the district will continue to be monitored until further notice. If they should approach within three meters of any area off limits to them, their bracelet will emit a series of warning beeps that will cease once they have retreated from said off limits zone. If they should enter an off limits zone, a single continuous tone will sound that can only be turned off by an authorized member of District Security."

"Miss Everdeen," Coin adds. "Mr. Mellark. These Capitolites are on probation until further notice. Each of them will be instructed as to the various off limits zones so they don't inadvertently enter one in error. But, aside from their ankle bracelets, they will be treated like any other district resident. They will be expected to work; they will be allowed to participate in any leisure or recreational activities, and they will not be under armed supervision...as long as they don't violate the terms of their probation."

"What if they violate their probation?" Katniss asked.

Coin smiled unpleasantly. "The consequences will be immediate, and harsh. And there will be _no_ second chance."

Katniss looked stubborn. "I want this in writing. And I want this to be announced to all of District Thirteen."

"Of course, Miss Everdeen," Coin replied smoothly. Once again, she turned to Plutarch. "Please continue, Mr. Heavensbee."

Plutarch glanced at both Katniss and I once again before he continued. "Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark will demonstrate their support for this compromise by consenting to participate in any and all propaganda recordings deemed necessary to bolster and reinforce the efforts of the Rebellion. Furthermore, Katniss Everdeen will consent to make both pre-recorded, as well as public, appearances as the Mockingjay...the living face of the Rebellion."

As Plutarch concluded his recitation, Coin turned to Henry Elliott. "The contracts, please."

Henry produced a set of documents from a portfolio that he had been carrying, which he wordlessly passed to Coin. As Coin quickly scribbled her signature on all three copies, she said, "As requested, Miss Everdeen. Everything in writing." She passed the stack to Katniss. "Please sign above your name on all three copies. And you as well, Mr. Mellark. Then return them to Soldier Elliott."

I watched as Katniss quickly signed her name as indicated. When she was finished she passed the stack to me. I picked up the top copy and read it thoroughly before signing. "If you don't mind," I said, "I would like to read this first."

"Of course," Coin replied smoothly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Katniss shoot me a stricken look and I realized that she hadn't bothered to read what she had just signed. I gave her a quick, reassuring smile as I finished reading. I nod in satisfaction. Nothing was on the written page that hadn't been covered by Plutarch.

Satisfied, I signed my name with a flourish on all three copies, and then I slid the stack back to Henry, who quickly examines each copy, signing his own name to each, before taking two copies and passing them back to Katniss and I.

"Those are your copies," he explained.

"Thank you," Katniss and I both muttered.

"And this one is the archive copy," Coin said, tapping the paper with her pen. "As promised, I will read this at Mandatory Assembly this evening at nineteen hundred hours."

"What happens," Katniss began, "what happens if Peeta or I don't hold up our end of this contract?"

I already knew the answer to that. It was in the last line of the contract. "If you fail to discharge your duties as Mockingjay," Coin replied, her voice firm, "then the terms of this compromise will be null and void. The Capitol expatriates and the Rebel Peacekeepers will be immediately remanded back to re-education confinement...indefinitely."

"And," I added, glancing at Katniss, "so will you and I."

As I watched the color drain from Katniss's face, and saw the smug look on Coin's, I began to wonder if we somehow wouldn't have been better off making a deal with President Snow.

* * *

The rest of the meeting was devoted to two subjects - rescuing other Rebel Victors, and how Katniss and I would be used in the first propos.

Boggs updated us on the status of the efforts to pull the other Rebel Victors to District Thirteen. "First, the good news," he announced. "We've managed to establish contact with Finnick Odair."

Haymitch looked up sharply. "When? How?"

"Yesterday," Boggs replied. "It seems that the comm blackout was caused by some overzealous Rebels in District Four. They destroyed the main microwave complex as well as the Capitol communications exchange."

"How did you manage to contact him?" Haymitch asked.

Boggs smiled. " _We_ didn't. _He_ contacted us. By marine radio." Boggs looked down, consulting his PADD. "The broadcast was jammed after a minute or so, and the signal was weak, but he was able relay that he was okay and was heading to a predetermined rendezvous point on the northern coast."

"Colonel Boggs, please update us on retrieval plans," Coin ordered.

"Yes, Madam President." Boggs scrolled down his PADD screen. "Odair is on a deep sea fishing vessel, making its way up the coast. If he is able to maintain speed we will rendezvous with him tomorrow. We inserted a pick-up team earlier today. If Odair arrives on schedule, they'll signal us for pick-up. We have a stealth hovercraft standing by for that very purpose."

"What if he _doesn't_ show up?" Haymitch asked pointedly.

Boggs turned and faced Haymitch, his face impassive. "The pick-up team will remain on station for forty-eight hours past the scheduled rendezvous time. If Odair fails to show they will exfiltrate back to District Thirteen using any means available."

"'Exfiltrate?'" I asked. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that they're on their own, kid," Haymitch replied grimly, glancing up at Boggs. "Ain't that right, Boggs?"

"Inserting the team was a calculated risk," Coin explained. "Retrieving Finnick Odair is an acceptable risk. However, if Odair doesn't show, we can't risk a stealth hovercraft simply to retrieve four soldiers."

"I don't believe this," Katniss muttered. "These are _your_ people that you're talking about! And you would just _leave_ them out there to die?"

"Miss Everdeen," Coin replied patiently, "first of all, this team is well trained in survival and evasion techniques. Number two; they are, perhaps, one week's march from here, on a section of coast that was actually part of the District Twelve territory originally. Finally, all four members of this team volunteered for this mission." She fixed Katniss with a baleful stare. "I don't waste people, Miss Everdeen...and, in light of our previous...encounters, I would appreciate your not presuming to lecture me on any matters pertaining to my soldiers. Am I clear?"

I felt Katniss stiffen and for a moment I was afraid that she was going to offer up some sort of sharp retort in response, but instead Katniss looked down and the table and mumbled, "Yes, ma'am. I apologize."

The ghost of a smile flits over Coin's face and I see her visibly relax. "Alright then. Let's continue. I believe Colonel Boggs has some further information regarding the plans for extracting Beetee Latier and Johanna Mason, and Mr. Heavensbee, along with Miss Cardew, want to share some ideas with regards to the propos that they wish to record." Coin turns back to Boggs. "Colonel?"

"Thank you, Madam President." Boggs taps his PADD screen. "Regarding the extraction of Beetee Latier. We -"

A loud buzzing noise emanates from the control pad set into the table between Coin and Henry Elliott. "One moment, Colonel," Coin said, visibly annoyed. One finger stabs a button on the recessed panel. "We're in conference. This had better be important."

"I'm sorry, President Coin," a voice replied. "Ma'am, Communications is picking up a broadcast from the Capitol. They thought that you should see it."

Coin sighed heavily. "Very well. Send it on through to the screen in here." Coin tapped another control and the main Holo-screen on the far wall of the conference room came to life.

I gasped audibly at the scene on the Holo. "That's City Circle," Katniss said quietly, the surprise evident in her voice.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" I heard Haymitch mutter. I wondered the same thing myself.

If I didn't know better, I would think that I was watching the Tribute Parade as, one by one, twelve chariots rumbled out of the Remake Center toward City Circle and the Presidential Palace. But there was something...different...with these chariots. Something sinister...even more so than the actual Games.

Each chariot carried two uniformed Peacekeepers, along with a third person. But, in contrast to the stark white of the Peacekeeper uniforms, the third occupant was dressed in a garish orange jumpsuit, and had a black hood pulled over their face. And, the third occupant was securely shackled.

There was a huge crowd assembled, exactly as there would be for the Tribute Parade, although there was an almost eerie quiet as the chariots made their way toward City Circle. In fact, we could distinctly hear the _clop, clop_ of the horse's hooves on the pavement, as well as the dull rumbling of the chariot wheels.

"Is this a recorded broadcast?" I heard Coin ask.

"No," Plutarch replied. "It's live. It's happening now."

"Really," Haymitch muttered again. "Pretty fuckin' early in the day for Capitolites, then."

As we watched, the chariots entered City Circle and, one by one, stopped. And, just as if this was the actual Tribute Parade, we watched as President Snow stepped forward on the balcony overlooking City Circle, raising his gloved hands as though to quiet the already silent crowd.

"My fellow citizens," Snow intoned gravely, "normally, this would be a time of celebration as, once again, we gather to honor the Treaty of Treason that had given us seventy-five years of blissful, uninterrupted, peace." Snow paused, looking down at the chariots. "However, it is with a heavy heart that I must announce that the Treaty of Treason has been torn asunder...broken by radical elements within our very population."

A muttering rose from the crowd at this announcement. "I am here to assure each and every one of you that the Hunger Games has been delayed only, and they will resume once these minor uprisings in a handful of districts have been quelled." This announcement was greeted with enthusiastic applause and cheers from the assembled thousands. It was the first real noise that we had heard this crowd make. "In the meantime, I give you this." Snow paused and looked down at the chariots. "Bring the first four forward!"

Immediately, four shackled, orange-clad prisoners are roughly pushed from the four chariots closest to the balcony, stumbling but held upright by their Peacekeeper escort, and are marched into the center of the circle, where they are all forced to kneel. "These four radicals are not the first to face our justice, and they won't be the last. But you, the good, loyal, citizen of the Capitol, deserve to see the faces of those that betrayed us...that betrayed _you._ "

On cue, a Peacekeeper standing to the right of each of the kneeling prisoners reached down and ripped off the black hoods, and I gasped audibly, as did Katniss, Haymitch, Plutarch, and Fulvia Cardew, when their faces were revealed. They are faces that I knew oh too well.

The kneeling prisoners are my Stylist, Portia, and my Prep Team.

"No," I choke, as Katniss's hand tightens on mine. "Not them. Not _Portia_!"

"The wheels of justice turn swiftly," Snow intoned, his voice solemn. "Let all citizens of Panem know that punishment for treason is swift, sure...and final."

As Snow spoke, a Peacekeeper standing directly behind each kneeling prisoner raised one arm. A pistol was clutched in each white-gloved hand. As I watched, Portia raised her head one final time and looked defiantly at the camera. Her lips seemed to be forming a word. What she wanted to say, however, will forever remain unspoken.

Because, when Snow said the word "final," all four pistols barked as one.

And I watched on the Holo as Portia's face exploded.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

 **PART I**

My muscles strained against the weight poised above my chest. Slowly I lowered the bar as my arms bend until the bar is almost touching my chest. Only then do I exhale explosively, grunting with the effort of pushing the weight back up until my arms are straight, elbows nearly, but not quite, locked. I repeated this motion several more times, until my arms are trembling with exertion, then, with a final effort, I dropped the bar onto the rack with a loud _clang_.

I sat up, grabbed a small towel and quickly mopped my sweating face, and then I stood, running the towel down both of my arms, and only then did I become aware that I'm no longer alone in the gymnasium.

Cinna had been leaning against the door, watching me as I lifted. He stepped forward as our eyes met, slowly walking towards me as he gestured towards the weight bench. "How much weight do you have on that?"

"One hundred kilos," I replied, picking up my water bottle and taking a quick swallow. "Not counting the bar." I recapped the bottle and gave my face another swipe with the towel before continuing. "How long were you watching me?"

"Not long," he admitted. "I stopped off at the sound stage before I came here. Katniss wears her Mockingjay armor well." Cinna paused, as if mulling what to say next. "She looks stunning in black. As I'm sure you've noticed."

I nodded, suddenly wary. _What's he getting at?_ I asked myself. "Yeah. I've noticed."

"Anyway, I was surprised that you weren't there with Katniss and the rest." Cinna said. Even though it wasn't spoken as a question, it wasn't hard to figure out what he was actually saying - _Why weren't you at the sound stage as well?_

"I was. Plutarch and Fulvia didn't need me," I replied slowly. "They're shooting some scene with Katniss rallying a bunch of computer generated soldiers. Katniss was having trouble saying the lines and Plutarch was getting more and more pissed. I left right after Haymitch came in. Actually, he was the one that suggested I take off for a bit."

"For good reason," Cinna explained. "When I got there, the tension was pretty thick. It was Katniss and Haymitch against Plutarch and Fulvia, with poor Effie stuck in the middle, trying to play peacemaker and keep everyone on schedule at the same time." Another pause. "I don't think that Plutarch will get what he wants by feeding Katniss lines on a sound stage."

"I don't think so, either," I replied, before adding impatiently, "Cinna, what's on your mind?"

Cinna's eyes locked onto mine. "You, Peeta."

"Me?" I asked. "What about me?"

Cinna turned, examining the weight bench that I had just been using. "You know, it's probably not a good idea to use some of this equipment without someone else here. No telling how long it would take for someone to find you if you had an accident."

"Yeah, well, spotters are in short supply right now," I muttered. "There's never anyone in here this time of day. Now, what about me?"

"How do you feel, Peeta?" Cinna asked softly.

"Answering a question with a question?" I replied archly.

"You sound angry," Cinna continued in the same soft voice.

"Is that what this is about? Whether or not I'm pissed?" I snort derisively. "Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Cinna asked. "A _really_ personal question?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Go ahead," I sighed resignedly. "You're gonna anyway."

"When was the last time that you and Katniss were...intimate?"

"That's none of your fucking business, Cinna!" I explode. "Why would you even _ask_ me something like that?" I could feel myself flushing with embarrassment. "Unless," I added, the back of my neck and my ears burning, "did she -"

"No," Cinna replied, cutting me off in mid-sentence. "She didn't. She wouldn't ever talk about things like that...even with me." Cinna reached out, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing firmly. "But I know her...and you...well enough to know when things aren't quite right. You're stressed. She's stressed. And it's affecting you both."

"Gotta keep up the 'Blood-Soaked Lovers' routine, right?" I snap.

"Peeta, let me be blunt," Cinna said, his voice taking on an edge that I had never heard from him before. "I could give less than a fuck about Plutarch's propos. In the end, he'll do what he does best, and I have every confidence that he will win the information war with the Capitol. But you and Katniss...Peeta, I didn't have much of a family to speak of in the Capitol. My parents, my siblings, all were ardent Snow supporters. We never talked politics but they could all see that I didn't share their enthusiasm. So, gradually, over time, my relationship with my family became cold...distant. And I threw myself into my work...first, on a Prep Team, then as a designer and Stylist in my own right, and always with the Rebellion. But I never felt a personal connection with anyone until I met Katniss Everdeen."

I say nothing. "Katniss was...well, like no one I'd ever met before," Cinna continued. "I'd worked Prep with Portia for years...lower districts, mostly...Eight, Nine, Ten...and the kids that came through the Remake Center were all the same. Scared to death, crying, resigned to dying. And I treated them all gently, with compassion, and always with a smile. I was appalled at how some Preps treated Tributes in Remake...like pieces of meat to be dressed up for display in a butcher's case."

"Cinna, I don't -"

Cinna held up one hand. "Please, Peeta. Just a minute more." He waited until I nodded tersely before continuing. "Then Katniss came along, in my very first Games as a Stylist, and she was _different_. I could tell that there was something special about her from the moment I watched her volunteer for her sister. And when I met her...she was scared, sure, but she was determined...and _angry_. And when I found out why Gale volunteered for you...well, I knew right then that District Twelve just might have a Victor."

"Katniss was the first district citizen that I got to know well," Cinna continued. "And the more I got to know her, the more I liked her. I already knew she was something special when she volunteered for her sister and from how Gale volunteered just to help her win the Games. And the next year, you came along, and, while your motivation for volunteering wasn't quite as...pure...as Katniss's, you still acquitted yourself admirably. You ended up earning something that, in its own way, was even harder than winning the Games. You earned Katniss's respect...and her love."

"So, what does all this have to do with Katniss and myself?" I asked impatiently.

"Why don't you tell me why you're angry?" Cinna countered gently.

Cinna's question made me stop and think. I've been angry ever since Reaping Day, when all this started. Oh, sure, Katniss and I had sought out the Rebellion and we were willing participants in the Reaping Day Uprising, but Cinna was right. I _was_ angry, and I didn't know exactly why, although Snow knows that there's plenty in my life to be angry about.

"I...I'm not sure," I stammered. "So much has gone on in the last few weeks. Maybe this is the first time that I've had time to let it show."

Cinna nodded approvingly. "You're getting there. But we've been here in Thirteen for a while now. What's changed?"

I think back to when we first arrived. "It was so confusing at first. There was Coin to deal with, and you, along with the rest, being treated like criminals, and then..." My voice trailed off as the image of Portia and my Prep Team, bound and kneeling in City Circle, brutally executed on a live Holo broadcast, flooded my mind.

"And then what, Peeta?" Cinna prodded gently.

"I watched Portia die," I replied, my voice a near-whisper. "I watched her being murdered by Snow's order."

"But you've watched others die," Cinna pointed out. "Husker, Evie, and Gamma were your allies...and your friends. You saw them all die in the arena. You watched Gale die in Katniss's arms during Mandatory Viewing. You saw your father and brother burn to death. You watched Cressida die...you even killed her murderer. You watched your mother, brother, and his wife die when Twelve was firebombed. You've seen death, and you've killed. Why is Portia different?"

"I don't know." I sat down on the weight bench, clutching my towel in both hands. "She just was." I looked up at Cinna. "I see her face every night when I go to sleep. I see what that bullet did to her. She knew what was coming. And she was helpless to stop it."

"There's your answer," Cinna said softly, as he sat down on the bench beside me. "She was helpless. She couldn't run, or fight back. Your alliance...they all fought, except for Evie, and she deliberately sacrificed herself. Gale sacrificed himself for Katniss. Your father and brother died in an accident. Cressida sacrificed herself for Katniss. Your mother and your brother chose to remain in Twelve. But Portia -"

"She died for nothing," I said, interrupting Cinna. "Nothing," I repeated, the word bitter in my mouth.

"Not for nothing," Cinna corrected. "She died for a very specific purpose. She died to shake you and Katniss up."

I glanced up from the towel that I had been busy twisting in my hands. "You mean Snow killed her to get to Katniss and I?"

Cinna nodded. "In part. More to get to you. She was your Stylist, after all. Do you play chess, Peeta?"

"Huh?" The question startled me with its randomness. "What's that go to do with -"

"Snow is a chess master," Cinna went on. "He's one of the most skilled players in the Capitol. You and Katniss...you've started something. Other districts are in revolt. You've embarrassed the President of Panem. And he may suspect that you've taken refuge here in Thirteen...for that matter, he may know, but he can't reach you directly...so he does the next best thing. He uses his pawns to attack you...a rook...to weaken Katniss...the queen."

"Portia was a member of the Rebellion," Cinna continued. "She was caught, and, along with her Prep Team, was probably tortured before the High Tribunal could find her guilty of treason and sentence her and the rest to death. But Snow ordered their hoods removed. _He wanted you to see their faces_. He wanted to shake you up, knowing it would affect Katniss also. And, Peeta, he was right."

"I noticed that you didn't compare me to a chess king," I said after a moment. "While you did compare Katniss to a queen."

"A rook is much more versatile, like you," Cinna replied. "Peeta, you and Katniss have been under tremendous stress, and you both have handled it remarkably well, all things considered. But Snow will stop at nothing to break you both."

"Then we can't let him," I said firmly, even while asking myself _how?_

"Here's what you need to do." Was Cinna reading my mind? "Tonight, you and Katniss need to go to your quarters and lock the door. And don't come out until wake-up tomorrow morning."

I could feel myself blushing in spite of myself. "You really think that will help?"

"It's a start," Cinna replied laconically. "Next, you both need to find something to occupy your time with something other than the Rebellion. Something active...and outdoors. You both need to work up a sweat. And you both need to get out of this rabbit warren."

"What about this?" I asked, holding up my arm and displaying my schedule.

"I'll talk to Plutarch," Cinna replied. "At least _he_ will listen to me and not look at me like I'm some kind of spy or criminal."

"Wait a minute," I said. "What if Katniss...what if she decides to spend tonight in her own quarters?"

Cinna smiled. "Oh, don't worry. I'll have a little chat with her once Plutarch is finished with her for the day." He stood up. "Come on. He should be just about done with her for now."

I followed Cinna out of the gym. "You know," I said, as we headed toward the sound stage, "I don't think I've ever heard you curse before today."

Cinna smiled cryptically. "Got your attention, didn't it?"

I had to agree.

 **PART II**

Cinna went to the sound stage to speak to Katniss after he and I left the gym. I wanted to go back to my quarters to shower following my workout, but that was out of the question. The shower didn't work until it was my designated time to bathe. So I decided to head to the hospital to see if I could cajole a pre-moistened body wipe or two from either Mrs. Everdeen or Prim.

When I got to the hospital I didn't find either of the Everdeen Healers. What I did find was the Doctor.

The Mine Company Doctor...whose name, I had only recently learned, was Josephus Picardo...had been assigned to work in the hospital, along with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. Under close supervision, of course. Even though they were no longer confined, the Capitol expatriates and the Rebel Peacekeepers were still required to wear ankle trackers. I had noticed Cinna's when we were talking earlier.

The hospital had returned to some semblance of calm organization following our arrival here. The vast majority of injured that we had brought out of District Twelve had been discharged, with only a handful of the more serious cases still remaining. I spotted a floor nurse at a nurse's station, along with a medical technician, but aside from those two staffers the place seemed oddly deserted.

The nurse seemed to recognize me as I wandered through the ward, as I was allowed unchallenged access to pretty much everything. I was systematically checking "staff only" spaces in the hope that I would somehow stumble upon the Everdeens. That didn't happen. Instead I stumbled across Doctor Picardo.

I found him in a utility closet, busily scrubbing and disinfecting a stack of bedpans. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening but said nothing, instead refocusing his attention on the task at hand.

"Excuse me," I muttered. "I was looking for the Everdeens...Una and Primrose."

"As you can see, they are not here," Picardo said with an edge to his voice. "I believe that they are currently engaged in some vital floor-scrubbing in the East wing."

"East wing. Got it. Thank you." I turned to leave, but stopped myself in the doorway. "Doctor? Why do they have you scrubbing bedpans? Aren't you a...well, a doctor?"

"Yes," Picardo almost spit the word, his bitterness apparent. "At least, I was, the last time I checked my diploma." The Doctor stopped, dropping the stainless steel bedpan into the washbasin with a loud clatter, and spun toward me. "This must be quite gratifying to you, seeing me reduced to common orderly."

"You know," I said evenly, keeping my rising temper under control, "it was Katniss and I that arranged for your release."

"She needed her Stylist, Escort, and Prep Team," Picardo replied, almost smugly. "The rest of us were incidental."

"If that was the case, then why bother getting the rest of you released?" I asked. "Doctor, you did your best to save Cressida. Katniss and I are both grateful to you for what you did for her. And we arranged for everyone's release because it was the right...and decent...thing to do."

"Perhaps you do feel some sense of debt to me," Picardo continued, not quite as self-righteously as before, " but you owe nothing to Petronia Goldsmith or her staff. She -"

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "'Petronia Goldsmith?' Who's she?"

"The woman that your Mentor so derisively refers to as 'Duchess,'" Picardo replied. "Perhaps I did assist you in some small way, but she and the rest of her staff have been unwilling participants in your little Rebellion from the beginning."

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. You, her, the people from Capitol Liaison that came with us...if we had left you behind you would all be dead now. Is that preferable? Besides, we all need to learn how to get along and work with each other eventually. And, like I said, it was the decent thing to do."

Picardo stared at me for a moment, his confusion evident on his face. Finally he shook his head. "This would have never happened in the Capitol if the roles were reversed."

I smiled. "This isn't the Capitol."

"Indeed it is not," Picardo replied. He turned and picked up a towel, quickly wiping his hands. "Come with me. I know where they're working."

I pointed to the stack of bedpans. "What about those?"

Picardo snorted. "Make work. Almost all of them were already clean." He paused at the door and gestured with one hand. "Come along, young Victor."

I followed the Doctor through a somewhat confusing maze of corridors. As we walked, I understood why he was escorting me. It would have taken me twice as long to find my own way, even with directions.

Picardo and I entered a large, open room marked with a large sign that read "Primary Trauma Center." Mrs. Everdeen and Prim were working on the far side of the room, carefully scrubbing the already-gleaming floor. Picardo cleared his throat slightly. "Madam," he said, almost formally. "Miss Everdeen. I've brought you a visitor."

Both Everdeen women looked up tiredly at the sound of the Doctor's voice, smiles creasing their faces when they saw that it was I with him. Tiredly, they climbed to their feet, both giving me a quick, welcoming hug.

"Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen said warmly, "what are you doing here? I thought you were with Katniss today recording something for Plutarch Heavensbee."

"Long story," I murmured. "As it is, it turned out that they really didn't need me. I was wondering if I could get one or two of those large wipes that they have here."

"Sure, Peeta," Prim said with a smile. "Take just a second." She quickly wiped her hands on her medical uniform apron and turned toward a nearby storage locker. "Is two okay?" She called over her shoulder as she opened the locker door.

"That would be fine, thank you, Prim," I replied. Prim reached up, grabbed a pair of plastic wrapped wipes, and then shuts the locker before turning back toward me and handing me the packages.

"Here you go," she said with another smile. "You need to come up to Level Two and visit sometime," she added. "Buttercup misses you."

"I'll -" I began, before a loud, unpleasant voice interrupted me.

"You! Capitolite! Don't tell me that you're done with those bedpans already!" The voice came from behind me, and, from the expressions on the faces of both Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, neither was happy to see the source of the voice.

"Those bedpans needed cleaning about as much as I need a third eye," Picardo replied defiantly. I turned around and saw six or seven District Thirteen medical types, both men and women, entering the Trauma room. The man in front...a large, unpleasant looking character...was the one that spoke earlier.

"Don't give me any shit, Capitolite, or you'll be back in re-education faster than you can say 'Coriolanus Snow,'" he snarled. Behind him the others chuckled softly as I felt my anger once again rising.

"Don't you think Dr. Picardo would be of more use as a doctor than as an orderly?" I snapped.

The man who had spoken looked at me uncertainly as recognition crossed his face. "You're the Victor, Peeta Mellark," he said. He stepped forward, extending his right hand to me. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

I ignored his hand. "Dr. Picardo is a doctor," I continued. "Why isn't he working as one?"

The man's eyes narrowed and he slowly lowered his hand. "He's a Capitolite," he muttered lamely. Behind him I heard another voice say, "Get the on-call doc in here."

One of the men spun around and hurried out of the room. "That doesn't answer my question," I said. "Dr. Picardo is a doctor, and a damn good one. He should be treating patients, not scrubbing their shit out of a bedpan."

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "No need to defend me, young man," Picardo said softly. "Their treatment of me is consistent with what I've come to expect from these troglodytes. However," he continued, turning and extending his hand toward Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, "treating these two skilled Healers in the same fashion is unforgivable."

"No disrespect intended, Mrs. Everdeen," one of the women medics said, "but you and your daughter are, after all, folk healers. Our medicine here is based on science, not on home remedies, medicinal plants, and herbs."

"'Folk healers?'" Picardo repeated indignantly. "'Home remedies?' And here I thought that only Capitol citizens could display such arrogance!"

Mrs. Everdeen laid her hand lightly on Picardo's arm. "It's quite alright, Doctor," she said softly. "Prim and I have been treated with respect and we do keep busy."

Picardo glanced down at Mrs. Everdeen, his expression at once gentle and firm. "No, madam," he replied. "It is _not_ alright." At that moment the man that had left the room returned, accompanied by an older man wearing a long white lab coat as well as five or six additional medical types.

Picardo smiled grimly as he turned back to the large, unpleasant man that had originally spoken, seemingly unaware of the new arrivals. "Let me ask a question of you," he said, and then glanced at the others in the room as he raised his voice. "Actually, let me ask this question of you all, given the fact that you are all now embroiled in a war." He paused for a moment, casting a quick glance at Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. "I would like to see a show of hands of _all_ present, here today, that have treated gunshot wounds."

About half of the medics present raised their hands. I noticed that the older, white-coated man didn't raise his hand, but both of the Everdeen women did. The man in the white lab coat...I realized that this must be the on-call doctor...smiled slightly as Picardo spoke.

"Excellent," Picardo said as he, too, raised his hand. "I will assume, then, that the bulk of your experience was in dealing with the casualties that had come in from District Twelve." He lowered his hand and the others did the same.

"Look, Capitolite, I don't see what you're trying to prove here," the large, unpleasant man barked. I noticed that his hand had been raised. He turned towards the man in the white lab coat. "Dr. Aurelius, this Capitolite is causing problems and refuses to work."

"Let him talk," the man addressed as Dr. Aurelius said calmly. "No harm in that, is there?"

"Thank you, doctor," Picardo said, inclining his head slightly towards Dr. Aurelius. "Now, then. May I please see a show of hands of those of you that have treated gunshot wounds _while being under fire at the same time._ "

This time, only three hands went up. Picardo raised his hand, along with the Everdeens. "I thought so," Picardo said smugly as he lowered his hand. "Not one of you present has known the terror of hearing bullets crack over your head even as you struggle to save the life that's in your hands. And yet, you dismissively relegate these two Healers -" he points dramatically at the Everdeens "- to floors, sheets, and bedpans. They can improvise on the battlefield, using whatever materials are handy. I've personally witnessed their skill. Can any of you?"

Picardo's question was met with silence. Finally, Dr. Aurelius stepped forward. "You make a compelling point...doctor," he said softly, before turning to face the other medics. "I'll take care of this. You all have work to do, I'm sure."

The other medics dispersed to resume whatever duties they had been performing earlier as Dr. Aurelius turned to face Dr. Picardo. Aurelius extended his hand toward Picardo, who grasped it without hesitation. "I'm glad that I've finally gotten a chance to meet you, doctor," Aurelius said sincerely. "I'd heard of you, of course, but things have been somewhat hectic around here until recently. And, for the record, I'm appalled that you were relegated to bedpan duty. My name is Aurelius. I'm on staff here."

"Josephus Picardo." Picardo shook Aurelius's hand firmly. "And, for the record, my concern is not wholly for myself." He turned and indicated Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. "These ladies should not be performing menial tasks here. I've had the privilege of watching them work under duress. They are as skilled as any trauma team that I've ever seen, and they don't rattle easily."

"So I've been given to understand," Aurelius said dryly, as he turned towards the Healers. "Ladies, I've spoken with a number of survivors from District Twelve. All have had nothing but glowing praise for your skills."

"Thank you, doctor," Mrs. Everdeen murmured, while Prim smiled shyly, saying nothing.

"I'll speak with the Chief Surgeon about reassigning all of you to duties more suited to your skills," Aurelius continued. "Ladies, how would you feel about working with our Chief of Trauma Medicine?"

"Prim and I will work wherever we are assigned, doctor," Mrs. Everdeen replied, but, from Prim's smile, I could tell that this news was quite welcome.

"Excellent," Aurelius said with a smile. "Now, doctor," he continued, turning back to Picardo, "what is your specialty?"

"Internal medicine," Picardo replied, "and some general surgery."

"Both will be welcome here," Aurelius said. "Doctor...ladies...once we finish up here we will all pay a visit to the Chief Surgeon. Considering that the Rebellion is about to heat up, I daresay that he will be quite receptive to my suggestions of adding you all to the medical staff here."

"That would be...welcome, indeed, doctor," Picardo said gratefully. "Thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you," Aurelius replied. "My training is in psychiatry. I've been pressed into service as a general surgeon only out of necessity." He turned to me before continuing. "Along those lines, Mr. Mellark, I was wondering if I might be able to schedule some time to speak with you and Miss Everdeen."

"What about?" I asked warily.

"Do you know what a psychiatrist does?" Aurelius asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "You're a head doctor. You deal with crazy people."

Aurelius chuckled softly. "In part. Actually, I try to _prevent_ people from becoming crazy. And that's why I would like to speak with you and Miss Everdeen, and Mr. Abernathy as well."

"I don't understand," I admit.

"I've studied Victors for years from here in Thirteen," Aurelius explained. "I've watched thousands of hours of recordings of Victors. And I think I can help you."

"With what?" I asked. "Are you saying that we're crazy?"

"Not at all," he replied. "But you've experienced things that have a direct bearing on my work here." He paused for a moment. "May I ask a personal question?" Aurelius asked.

"That depends," I said defensively.

"Do you suffer from recurrent nightmares?" Aurelius asked.

My eyes narrowed slightly before I replied. "Yes."

"How about Miss Everdeen and Mr. Abernathy?"

"Yes," I replied after a moment.

"I have a theory," Aurelius said after a moment. "The stress of the Games, especially at such a young age, causes a great deal of mental trauma to the survivors...in other words, to you Victors. Recurring nightmares, flashbacks, sleeplessness, and substance abuse are all common symptoms. And these symptoms will become all too common in soldiers that will be soon fighting a war against the Capitol. That's why I wish to speak with the three of you. If I can develop treatment strategies before we are completely embroiled in war then perhaps I may be able to mitigate the long term effects of such trauma."

"So, you want to experiment on us?" I asked, almost angrily.

"I want to help you," Aurelius explained gently. "And, perhaps, learn how to help others. You are under no obligation to participate, however."

I mulled it over for a moment. "I'll think about it," I finally said. "And I'll talk to Katniss and Haymitch about it also."

"That's all I ask," Aurelius replied. He pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from one pocket and scribbled something on the pad. "Here's my comm number." He ripped the top paper from the pad and handed it to me. "Call me anytime."

I nodded and shoved the paper into a pocket. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim said nothing, but the doubt on their faces spoke volumes.

As closed off as Katniss is, none of us thought there was any chance of her willingly talking to anyone about the horrors that she dealt with on a daily basis inside her head...let alone this District Thirteen head doctor.

 **PART III**

Cinna was right about one thing. Katniss and I desperately needed our time together.

We said little at dinner. She confirmed that Cinna had spoken with her earlier, but neither of us discussed our conversations. And I did not mention what Dr. Aurelius wanted to do with us.

I couldn't help but wonder if we would be ordered to speak with him if we didn't do so voluntarily. From what I've seen of President Coin, I had no doubt that she would not hesitate to issue such an order. And that would be disastrous for us, because I also had no doubt that Katniss would deliberately disobey such an order.

I did learn over dinner why Haymitch had been under restraints while in the hospital. It wasn't due to delirium tremens. It was his reaction to learning the news that Effie Trinket had been incarcerated in re-education and was being treated like a common criminal. I guess his feelings for Effie run a lot deeper than he is willing to show, although I couldn't say that I was all that surprised.

Other than that, for the most part Katniss and I had eaten our meals in silence. It was funny, in a way, how suddenly awkward we were around each other. Both of us knew and understood Cinna's directive to "lock the door until wake-up," but it was the thought that a man that both of us respected and trusted had basically ordered us to make love that fueled our sudden shyness with one another. But Cinna was right. We had allowed the stress of everything that's happened recently, coupled with Katniss's injury during the Reaping Day Uprising, come between the both of us.

It was Katniss that made the first move. Our meal over, she reached down and grabbed my hand firmly in her own as we made our way from the Level Two Mess Hall down to my quarters on Level Twenty. On the way, we exchanged murmured greetings with several different people, both District Twelve refugees as well as soldiers from District Thirteen. It all felt so natural and yet forced at the same time, but Katniss's warm hand in mine was having a very welcoming effect on me.

And, as we reached my quarters and I slid the door closed behind us, locking it firmly, I could see that just our simple touch had affected Katniss as well. For when she turned back toward me as I locked the door, I could see very obvious desire smoldering in her eyes.

Still, I hesitated. Katniss took a tentative step towards me, desire still burning in her eyes as she nervously bit her lower lip. I found that simple gesture very erotic and I could feel my own body reacting in kind.

I gave her a small, nervous smile as I gently placed my hands on her shoulders. "How...how are your ribs?" I asked softly.

Katniss looked up at me, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards as she returned my smile. "Okay," she whispered.

"Because," I stammered, "I don't want...that is, if you're still hurting, we can...I mean, we don't have to -"

"Peeta," Katniss interrupted, her voice low and husky, "shut up."

And then her hands captured my face as she rose up, pressing her lips eagerly, and warmly, to mine.

We had kissed many times since coming to Thirteen, but the last time that she had kissed me like this was before the Reaping Day Uprising. My own hands slid around her slender waist as her hands slid down my face as she wrapped her arms around my neck, even as her tongue slid out sensuously, tracing my lips impatiently, coaxing my own tongue out to meet hers in a slow, sensual duel.

She never broke our kiss as her hands went to the front of my coverall, fighting with the zippers, buttons and snaps in a frantic attempt to strip the plain garment off of me, even as my own fingers began to clumsily work on her own coverall. Both of us were moaning slightly as we fought to strip the clothes off the other. Finally, reluctantly, our lips parted as we both collapsed heavily to the narrow bed, fumbling with our fingers at the laces on our boots, kicking our legs frantically in our efforts to shed the heavy footwear.

Katniss and I were both laughing and cursing as we kicked our legs out, boots flying from our feet to land with solid thumps on the floor, as we continued to fight with our clothing. Finally, both sets of coveralls lay in crumpled heaps on the floor, to be quickly followed by t-shirts and underwear, until, both of us naked, Katniss pushed me back onto the bed and knelt above me, her hair disheveled as she swung one leg over me, straddling me as she leaned down to capture my mouth with hers once more.

"It's been too long," Katniss moaned into my mouth as her hand snaked down between our bodies, finding my swollen manhood and stroking it firmly, even as my own hands slid down her smooth back and over her firm buttocks, my fingers probing between her thighs, finding her sweet, wet center and caressing gently, bringing forth new moans as my fingers teased her sensitive flesh.

Suddenly Katniss shifted, positioning herself above me as she quickly guided me to her wet nether lips, slowly, carefully lowering herself as we both moaned with the exquisite sensations flooding our bodies. Once again her mouth descended on mine as she began thrusting her hips, grinding against me almost frantically, her nipples grazing my own as my own hips bucked upwards, locking against hers in a sensual rhythm.

"I love you, Katniss," I gasped as I felt my climax quickly rising. My hands grasped her hips, feeling the angular hardness of bone through her silky skin as I continued to thrust upward.

"I love you, Peeta," Katniss gasped in return, holding herself above me, her head thrown back, her eyes tightly shut as her hips continued their swiveling motion on my groin. I could see tears trickling down her cheeks as her mouth opened in a long, continuous, passionate moan.

Suddenly my climax, so long denied, was upon me as I only had time to gasp out, "Oh Katniss, I'm -" before I managed one final thrust upwards as all the tension, all the stress, all the fear of the last few weeks exploded out of me as my shaft pulsed over and over, even as Katniss's own body contracted around me as, with a half gasp, half scream, my explosion triggered her own.

"Me, too," she managed to choke out as our bodies trembled with the force of our combined release. Katniss buried her face against my neck as our mutual pulsations slowly diminished, trailing off as our ragged breathing returned to normal and our hearts slowed until, with a sigh, Katniss raised her head up, turned her face towards mine, and kissed me slowly and lovingly.

"Cinna's pretty fucking smart," Katniss whispered as she finally pulled her mouth from mine.

"Yes he is," I whispered in reply, holding her against me. "That was...that was...wow."

"Yeah," Katniss said softly, her lips curving up in a smile. "Wow."

"And you aren't hurting?" I ask anxiously.

"Peeta, I'm fine," Katniss replied gently. "Cinna's right. We both needed this so badly."

"Yes we did," I agree. I ran my fingers down her bare back, tracing each rise and indentation of her spine, her skin damp and clammy from our sudden exertions. "You'll have to shower with me tonight. Think five minutes is enough for two?"

"We'll make it work," Katniss whispered, kissing me again. When she raised her head up, she said, "My Mom and Prim told me what you did today. Thank you."

"It wasn't me," I admitted. "Dr. Picardo was the one that made them see how wrong they were."

"Prim said there was another doctor there, too." Katniss shifted around, rising up on one elbow as she looked at me solemnly. "She said he wanted to talk to you, me, and Haymitch."

Shit. I should have figured that Prim would say something. "Yeah. About that. I was gonna talk to you about that in the morning. I -"

"It's okay, Peeta," Katniss said softly. "I know that you didn't want anything to spoil...this." Katniss paused for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. "I don't know if I can talk to this man."

"I'll talk to him first," I replied. "And I'll see if Haymitch won't talk to him, too. Maybe he won't need to talk to you."

"Okay," Katniss whispered, laying her head on my chest once again. "Prim told me something else," she added after a minute.

"What's that?" I asked, as I gently caressed her back with my fingertips.

"You know that Pox they people talk about here? The epidemic that killed a bunch of people? Prim said that she heard that Coin's husband and daughter died during the epidemic." Katniss raised her head up and turned toward me as she spoke.

"Well, that explains a lot," I murmured. "No wonder she's so driven."

"There's something else," Katniss continued. "This Pox caused almost all of the men here to become sterile. There's almost no children here younger than Prim. Prim overheard a couple of doctors talking that they need to win the war so they can get some healthy men from other districts into Thirteen for breeding stock."

I shuddered slightly. "Breeding stock." It sounded like they wanted to use healthy males from other districts the same way District Ten used prize bulls.

"So that's what this Rebellion is about?" I asked in amazement.

Katniss nodded. "Prim told me that these doctors said that if they didn't get enough 'breeders' that District Thirteen would basically die out in less than two generations."

"Does Prim think that these doctors know she was listening?" I asked.

"No," Katniss said firmly. "She's sure they don't know."

"Wow." I could hardly believe what Katniss had just told me. If it was true, then this whole war was going to be fought for District Thirteen's benefit.

"Peeta?" I looked over at Katniss. "Please don't say anything."

I smiled at her reassuringly. "I won't," I promised. "It's almost nine. We have five minutes to shower."

Katniss groaned softly as she reluctantly climbed off of me, then helped me up off the bed. As we walked into the bathroom, she said playfully, "I hope you don't mind if I get you all sweaty again later."

I swatted her lightly across her firm buttocks, causing her to squeal softly. "I'm counting on it," I replied with a grin.

* * *

Later on that night, as we lay nestled in each other's arms, what Katniss had told me kept running through my mind. And I knew that there was no way that I would not be able to keep my mouth shut about Coin's plan. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it angered me.

Coin may pretend that her motivations for supporting the Rebellion were pure, but now I knew better. If that was her real reason for coming forward now, then why didn't she just admit that she was trying to do what was best for her district? And, as I drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, this revelation made me wonder.

What else wasn't she telling us?

* * *

The sound of the comm unit's urgent buzzing woke me from my restless sleep. I glanced at the digital display as I stumbled out of bed to answer the call. Two minutes after three. Shit. This better be good.

Irritably, I punched the "ANSWER CALL" button on the comm unit. "What is it?" I bark.

"Well, good mornin' to you, too, sunshine," Haymitch's voice echoed from the speaker grill. "Sorry to interrupt your...beauty sleep...but I thought you might wanna hear this."

"Who is it?" Katniss muttered sleepily, rising up on one elbow while trying to flush the fog of sleep from her brain.

"It's Haymitch," I replied, before turning back to the comm unit.

"Oh, good," Haymitch said. "Katniss is there with you. Saves me from makin' another call."

"Haymitch, cut the shit!" I snapped. "It's late. What do you want?"

"Well," Haymitch drawled, "just to let you two know that two extraction teams have just arrived, not five minutes apart, with two more Victors to add to our growing party."

"What?" Suddenly I was wide-awake. "Who?"

"Kid, they're not in real good shape," Haymitch continued.

"Dammit, Haymitch!" Katniss barked. " _Who?_ "

"They've both been taken to the hospital," Haymitch replied, his voice now serious. "It's Finnick Odair and Beetee Latier." Haymitch paused for a moment. "They...they're both hurt."

I felt a sudden pang of sympathy for Haymitch. He had known both Finnick and Beetee for years, and considered both Victors his close friends.

"How bad?" Katniss managed to choke out. Haymitch replied with a single word.

"Bad."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

 **PART I**

I dozed fitfully, twisting around in the straight-backed chair next to the hospital bed. The room was quiet except for the soft hum coming from the various monitors hanging above the bed. The bed's occupant was silent, with only the readouts from the monitors and the sight of his chest rising and falling slowly the only indications that he was still alive.

The last time that I had seen Beetee Latier had been while I was a patient at Victor's Mercy Hospital in the Capitol, following my own Hunger Games Victory. Not only had he sat with me...part of a ritual called the "Vigil" that past Victors had observed when a badly injured new Victor was plucked from the arena...but he had designed the electronics that made my prosthetic leg function.

He had sat Vigil for me when I needed it. I owe him this much.

Of course, Katniss and I had not been allowed to immediately see either Beetee or Finnick Odair, both Victors arriving just minutes apart from their respective extractions. Both men had been rushed straight to the hospital. Haymitch had been correct. Both men were in bad shape.

Beetee had a single bullet wound in his abdomen that had caused internal damage and, from what I had been told by one of the staff here (not the Everdeens or Dr. Picardo, who were not on duty at the time), the bullet had damaged his spine as well. Finnick Odair was in better shape physically, but Dr. Aurelius had been spending a lot of time with him today. It wasn't Finnick's body that was damaged, but his mind.

Mags, his old Mentor and the oldest living Victor, had been killed during Finnick's escape. This was bad enough...Mags and Finnick were extremely close...but what was worse for Finnick was what had happened to Annie Cresta. They had become separated in the confusion during the escape and Annie was now officially listed as missing in action.

Katniss was keeping Vigil with Finnick. She knew him much better than I did...in fact, I don't clearly recall ever meeting him at all, although he may have sat Vigil for me after my Games. No matter. It was more fitting that Katniss keep Finnick company. After all, they shared more than the experience of being a Victor, and they understood each other in a way that I never possibly could.

Haymitch had sat with both Katniss and I at different times, once Finnick had been assigned to a room and after Beetee had left surgery, but he had been called away by Plutarch before dinner, and I haven't seen him since. Truthfully, I think he was relieved to have been called away. This sort of thing wasn't his strong suit, and it had been pretty apparent that he was uncomfortable when he sat with me.

So now, I'm sitting here, dozing off and on, and wondering exactly what I will say to Beetee Latier when...and if...he wakes up. And, as it turned out, I didn't have long to wait.

* * *

I awoke with a jerk, unsure why I suddenly snapped awake. I straightened up in my uncomfortable chair, glanced up at the readouts on the monitors above Beetee's bed, and listened for any alarms that would sound should his condition take a turn for the worst. The monitors were unchanged and there were no alarms, and it was only then that I noticed that Beetee's head was turned toward me, and his eyes were open.

Beetee peered at me, his forehead creased in concentration, and then he whispered a single word: "Glasses."

Of course! I had known that he wore glasses. He probably couldn't see me very well at all without them. Muttering an apology, I leaned forward, retrieving his glasses from the stand next to his bed, and slipped them on his face. Beetee reached up, adjusted the frames, and looked back toward me, his eyes focusing on my face.

"Ahh," he murmured, his voice rusty. "Peeta Mellark. It's nice to finally get confirmation that you are, in fact, still alive and that you made it to Thirteen...we _are_ in Thirteen, correct?"

I nodded. "Yes," I replied. "With Katniss and Haymitch as well."

Beetee's lips curled up in a small smile. "Good," he croaked.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You must be thirsty." I glanced around for a water pitcher, but there was none to be seen. I reached out and pushed the call button on Beetee's bed. "I'll get you some water."

Beetee shook his head. "Peeta, it's not necessary -"

"You can barely talk," I replied, cutting him off. At that moment a nurse entered the room.

"Oh, good," she said with a smile. "You're awake. I'll let the doctor know." She stepped next to the bed and checked the various IV drips, and then the vital signs readouts, nodding in satisfaction.

"He's thirsty," I said firmly. "Can we get some water in here?"

The nurse turned to me. "Sorry, no. He's had an abdominal wound. No liquids by mouth just yet." She produced something that, at first glance, looked like a fat-handled toothbrush, but with a soft, foam head. She squeezed the handle gently until the foam head darkened with moisture. "I can give you this, Mr. Latier, if you like."

Beetee nodded gratefully. "Please." The nurse quickly ran the foam head over Beetee's lips before sliding it into his mouth, repeating the action. It looked like she was brushing his teeth. When she was finished she carefully laid the foam brush on a tray next to his bed.

"I'll leave this here for you," she said. "Are you in any pain?"

"A little," Beetee admitted.

The nurse examined Beetee's chart, and then reached over to one of the hanging IV drips. A small control box was attached to the drip. She placed the box in Beetee's right hand.

"There's a button on the box," she explained. "Press it."

Beetee did so, and I could hear a soft beeping sound. "That's morphling," she explained. "You can self-medicate every few minutes. Make sure you keep up on the medication. You don't want your pain to get out of control."

"I will," Beetee promised. "And thank you."

After the nurse left, Beetee turned to me. "As I was saying, water isn't necessary at this time. I know where I was shot. No oral liquids with a wound like mine."

"I didn't know," I murmured, embarrassed.

Beetee's mouth twitched up in a small smile again. "No worries. How's Katniss? I saw her get shot...her and Cressida. I assume she was wearing body armor?"

I nodded. "Yes. She's fine. Just a little tender still." I paused for a moment. "Cressida is...she didn't make it. She's dead."

Beetee nodded, sighing heavily. "I assumed as much. She was a good person." Beetee shifted slightly, a small frown creasing his forehead. "Peeta, I can't feel my legs."

I gazed at Beetee, unsure of what to say, if anything. The bullet had damaged his spine. I knew that much. But I'm no doctor.

A doctor, along with a nurse and a technician, entered the room, saving me from having to say anything. "Mr. Latier," the doctor said. "I was told that you're awake." He turned toward me. "Can you excuse us? I need to speak with Mr. Latier."

I stood up, grateful to this doctor for giving me an out, and, at the same time, ashamed that I didn't have the courage to insist on sticking around for what was sure to be bad news for Beetee. "I'll come back later, Beetee," I said, patting him on one shoulder.

Beetee reached up, clasping my hand in his. "Thank you for being here, Peeta." He squeezed my hand gently. "And don't feel bad. I know what the doctor wishes to speak to me about."

"I'll see you later," I replied lamely, letting go of his hand and quickly leaving the room.

As I made my way back to my quarters, I remembered my own reaction when I awoke in Victor's Mercy to discover that I had lost a leg. But, with time and help from a lot of people, Beetee included, I re-learned how to walk. I could even run, after a fashion.

I couldn't imagine someone telling me that I would not be able to ever walk again.

 **PART II**

I didn't have much in the way of leisure time today. Finnick and Beetee's successful extractions managed to spur Coin and the rest into taking some positive action. As soon as I returned to my quarters I saw a flashing light on my comm unit. There was a single message: "Meeting in Command at twenty-one hundred hours."

I glanced at the digital clock. I had eight minutes. I sighed, turned, and walked out the door, heading for the nearest elevator. _So much for a shower,_ I thought as I waited for the elevator.

I had a pleasant surprise when the cage slid open. Katniss was heading down to Command as well. We had hardly seen each other all day. She hugged me tightly, gripping my shoulders firmly for a few seconds before pulling away.

"How's Finnick?" I asked, after a quick kiss.

Katniss pulled away from me to close the cage and punch the "DOWN" button before replying. "A mess," she said quietly. "Mags is dead, Annie's missing, and of course he blames himself." She sighed heavily. "Peeta, I've never seen him like this. He's not in bad shape physically. But all he's been doing is tying and untying knots in a piece of rope." She shook her head. "That head doctor, Aurelius, is with him. He said that he could help him. I hope he's right. How's Beetee?"

"Awake," I replied. "A doctor was with him when I left. He's probably been told by now that he probably won't ever walk again."

"I feel so bad for them both," Katniss said. She paused for a moment, looking down at the floor of the elevator. "Aurelius asked me if I would be willing to talk to him."

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

Katniss surprised me. "I said that I would." She must have seen my expression, for she continued with, "No one else has ever come to either of us and said they could help. Maybe he can." Another pause, and then, "Not for a while, though. I think he's gonna be busy with Finnick for a while."

At that moment, the elevator sighed to a stop and the cage slid open. I gave Katniss a small smile. "After you," I said with a flourish. "I believe we're expected."

"Yeah," Katniss grumbled as she stepped from the elevator. "At another stupid meeting that accomplishes nothing."

* * *

Katniss was wrong. The arrival of Finnick and Beetee seemed to galvanize Coin, Boggs, Plutarch, and the rest. This meeting was full of surprises...including one of my own.

The usual attendees were in place: President Coin with her assistant, Henry Elliott; Colonel Boggs and Lieutenant Jackson; Plutarch Heavensbee and Fulvia Cardew; and Haymitch Abernathy. But this time we were joined by others: Cinna, Effie Trinket, Darius Potter, and the Goat Man himself, Silenus Festuca.

"Please be seated," Coin said as soon as we entered the room. Without preamble, she continued, "The successful extractions of Finnick Odair and Beetee Latier means that we can now move forward with the next phase of the Rebellion. Mr. Heavensbee?"

Plutarch nodded slightly and turned towards Katniss and I. "We've decided that you are most convincing when your reactions are genuine, Katniss. So we aren't going to feed scripted lines anymore. We've come up with another idea."

"No more propos?" Katniss asked, glancing uncertainly at Coin.

"We'll still record propos," Plutarch explained. "But not on a sound stage." He turned and gestured across the table, towards where Effie and Haymitch were sitting. "Haymitch pointed out, and rightly so, that you are your best when you are yourself...and Miss Trinket gave us several excellent examples."

"I don't understand," Katniss muttered.

"Katniss, what moves people is when they see the real you," Effie chimed in. "When you volunteered for Primrose, or when you sang to Rue, or when you were with Gale when he...anyway, _that's_ what moves people. Your real emotions and reactions."

"Whatever happened to wanting the 'Girl on Fire?'" Katniss asked.

"Embellishments," Cinna said. "Amplifications of your personality. Larger than life projections of the real you. But the real you is what touches people. And that's what's needed here."

"Katniss, we're going to put you and Peeta in the field," Plutarch said. "You'll be perfectly safe, but the districts...and the Capitol...need to see why we are fighting."

"What's that mean exactly?" I ask. "'The field?'"

"We're going to take you two back to District Twelve," Plutarch explained. "With Messalla and his crew. There's been a complete information blackout throughout all of Panem regarding what happened there. We need to show all of the other districts what the Capitol is capable of...and what they will do, without hesitation."

I glance at Katniss, whose only reaction is an almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw. "Who will see it?" I ask.

"The entire nation," Plutarch replies with a smile. "Including the Capitol. Believe it or not, but Capitol citizens are as much in the dark about what happens in Panem as everyone else. It's important that they see what Snow did to District Twelve."

"How?" Katniss asked. "The Capitol controls all communication, especially Holo-TV broadcasts."

"Beetee Latier," Plutarch replied, somewhat smugly. "He designed the programming for the computer network that the Capitol uses...including backdoors that he installed. Hacking into their network won't be a problem now that he's here."

"You do know," I said slowly, feeling my anger rising, "that he took a bullet and most likely will never walk again?"

"I'll be blunt, Mr. Mellark," Coin said. "We want Mr. Latier for his brilliant mind, his genius...not for his legs. His mind is intact. Whether or not he can walk isn't relevant."

"And," Haymitch said hastily, speaking for the first time, "Beetee knew the risks when he got involved with the Rebellion. So don't get yourselves all in a twist. Got it?"

I glanced quickly from Haymitch, to Katniss, and then to Coin. I knew instantly what Haymitch was trying to do...prevent either Katniss or I from replying to Coin's callous, almost cruel, remark about Beetee's legs. Which one of us most certainly would have done if he hadn't said something first.

Katniss picked up on Haymitch's signal as well, saying nothing. But there was no mistaking the blaze in her eyes. _Let it go,_ I said to myself. _This is not the time or the place._

"Let's continue," Coin said brusquely. "Colonel Boggs?"

"Security on the ground will be handled by Jackson's squad," Boggs said. "We'll do an aerial recon of Twelve before we go in, although there's been no indications that any attempts have been made to occupy the district since the bombing. That being said, Jackson will secure the area before you so much as set foot in Twelve, and she will have the final say on all security related matters. Clear?"

"Clear," Katniss and I answered together.

"Good." Boggs said. "In addition to Messalla and his crew, you will both be fitted with body cams that will record everything that you see and hear from your point of view. Messalla will activate them by remote when you land and will deactivate them once you return to the hovercraft."

"When do we go?" Katniss asked.

"The day after tomorrow," Boggs replied. "Tomorrow you'll spend with Plutarch and Fulvia on content, Cinna and his team on appearance, and Haymitch, along with Effie, will keep you focused and on schedule. This is important, you two. What we record in Twelve will go out to all of Panem. And this will prove to the entire country that you two are alive and well."

Katniss said nothing. I just nodded. I couldn't help but think how much our schedule for tomorrow sounded like Interview Prep before the Hunger Games. There's one important difference, however...it won't be us with twenty-two other Tributes. It's just Katniss and I, on display in front of the entire country.

"Alright," Coin said, sitting back in her chair. "One final item to discuss before we break. Where to commit troops for the first major offensive against the Capitol." She glanced down at the PADD on the table in front of her. "I understand that there's been some...conflict?"

"A difference of opinion, President Coin," Boggs said tightly. "I'm in favor of striking the Peacekeeper units in either District Four or District Eight. The Rebels in both of those districts have had the greatest measure of success against Capitol forces. We feel that, with our assistance, that the Rebels will be able to quickly secure either district."

"So, what's the problem?" Coin asked impatiently.

"The problem," Silenus Festuca said, speaking for the first time, "is that you'll end up fighting a war for ten years with a strategy like that."

Coin arched her eyebrows and turned an icy glare in Festuca's direction. "Mr. Festuca," she said slowly, measuring each word carefully, "I allowed you and Mr. Potter to sit in here tonight under the condition that you would not disrupt this meeting." She then turned towards Plutarch. "Mr. Heavensbee, I thought I was quite clear on this matter. These two...gentlemen...are effectively on parole."

"And they have first-hand experience in tactics," Haymitch pointed out. "And Goaty has -"

"I beg your pardon," Coin said, cutting Haymitch off. "'Goaty?'"

"Back in Twelve he was known as Goat Man," Haymitch explained impatiently. "He's a retired Peacekeeper Sergeant who served for twenty years. He knows Peacekeeper tactics, as does Darius."

"And I agreed to listen to them both," Boggs interjected. "And, for the record, I strongly disagree with their recommendations."

Coin sighed heavily, tossing her pencil onto the table, and pinches the bridge of her nose before wiping her hands across her eyes. "This is the conflict, then. All right, let's hear it."

"You ain't gonna hurt the Capitol by taking either Four or Eight," Festuca explains. "What's that gonna accomplish? Cut off their supply of jumbo shrimp and lobster tail? Capitol socialites forced to wear last year's fashions? Oh, the humanity!"

"Spare me your sarcasm, Mr. Festuca," Coin snapped. "I'm not in the mood."

"My apologies, Madam President," Festuca said contritely. I glanced at him sharply, and he even _looked_ contrite. Well, Coin can have that effect on people, and I know from experience that she's not to be taken lightly. "But such a move will prolong this war, and the Capitol has both the numbers and the resources to fight a lengthy conflict. We don't."

Coin nodded thoughtfully. "I agree with you on that point." She turned to Boggs. "Colonel, what is the advantage in taking the fight to either Four or Eight at this time?"

"Both districts are active in the fight against the Capitol," Boggs explained. "They're both close enough to not pose an insurmountable logistics problem. Their Rebel cells have already indicated that they are willing to accept help and guidance in fighting the Peacekeeper units there. And once we pacify one district, we can use the seasoned fighters there as cadre in other districts to train _their_ Rebels."

"And all that takes time that we don't have," Festuca said. "We have to move quickly, and we have to hurt the Capitol _right now_."

"All right," Coin said, turning towards Festuca. "What's your plan?"

"Simple," Festuca replied. "We need to concentrate on three districts: Nine, Ten, and Eleven. Start with Eleven first. They're the closest and we can work from there. But these three districts are the key."

"They're also quite large, Mr. Festuca," Coin pointed out, "with populations scattered all over each district. Exactly what are they 'key' to?"

Festuca smiled grimly. "Food. The Capitol can get along without new clothes, or caviar, or the latest, greatest high-speed train out of District Six. But they all gotta eat."

Coin arched one eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that we starve them out?"

Festuca nodded. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

Coin absently tapped her lip with her forefinger as she stared off at the far wall of the conference room. Finally she sat up. "Both proposals have their own merits," she declared. "But we'll shelve any strategic decisions until after the propos are recorded." She looked around the room. "Does anyone have anything else for now?"

"What about Finnick?" Katniss asked quietly.

Coin turned to face Katniss. "What about him?"

"Where does he fit into all of this?" Katniss asked. "I mean, you've made it clear what Beetee was rescued -"

"Extracted," Coin corrected automatically.

"- rescued for," Katniss continued, ignoring Coin's correction. "You need to pick his brain on how to break into the Capitol computers. But what's Finnick here for?"

"He has some information that may prove useful to us at a later date, Katniss," Plutarch explained. "And, until then, he can work with you and Peeta on making propos."

"Not in his present condition," Katniss muttered.

"No," Coin admitted impatiently. "Not in his present condition. At a later date, perhaps. Now, is there anything else?"

I took a deep breath. "Yes," I replied. "One more thing."

Coin turned to me with a sigh. "Mr. Mellark?"

"I would like to begin training," I said carefully. "As a soldier."

 **PART III**

I never said I had good timing.

The hovercraft was flying low, just above treetop level (what the pilot described to me as "nap of the earth" flying), so we were alternately experiencing feeling ourselves being pressed down in our seats and then suddenly having our stomachs drop out from under us.

I glanced over at Katniss, who was sitting across from me, between Pollux and Jackson. She must have felt my eyes on her, because her head swiveled towards me and I was treated to yet another glare.

I sighed and looked away. Haymitch, who was sitting across from me, grinned crookedly and leaned forward, tapping my knee. "What did you expect, kid?" He asked. "Your little bombshell took everyone by surprise. Did you really think that Katniss was gonna turn cartwheels when you announced that you were joining the Army?"

"Dammit, Haymitch," I muttered angrily, "I'm _not_ joining the Army! All I want is some training in weapons and tactics. I can't throw knives at every Peacekeeper I run into! I just want to be able to handle whatever gun I'm issued, that's all."

"Kid, it don't stop with just weapons training," Haymitch pointed out. "There's all kinds of other shit that they're gonna make you learn. And don't think that you ain't joinin' the Army, 'cause you are."

"Coin even said that my military training was not to interfere with the propos," I replied lamely, but deep down, I was already having concerns. What if Haymitch was right? If I complete their basic training program there's nothing to prevent Coin from having me assigned to a combat squad, which I'm sure she would if I somehow "displeased" her.

Haymitch leaned back in his jump seat and sighed. "Kid, if you wanted to have someone teach you how to shoot, you shoulda asked Festuca or Darius. You already know how to fight...and kill...if you have to. You don't need the rest of the bullshit that goes along with military training."

I didn't reply. Maybe he was right. Yet, we're in the middle of a war. And I need to be able to fight if I have to. And that means I have to know how to shoot.

Most importantly, I need to be able to protect Katniss.

I know that we'll have a security squad with us wherever we go. But they can't be everywhere. I'll be expected to be by Katniss's side, no matter where we are. She's the face of the Rebellion. And I need to protect that face...along with the rest of her.

Boggs looked up from his PADD, pressing the headset closer to his ear. "Listen up!" He barked. "We're coming up on District Twelve. We'll do one orbit of the Square and then land. Katniss - Peeta. Put your headsets on and do a comm check with Haymitch. Security squad, you're out first. Messalla, activate body cams. Thirty seconds, people!"

Katniss and I fumbled with our headsets...a small, wireless communications device with a small button that I inserted into my ear, and a compact receiver/transmitter that wrapped around the ear, ending in a slender microphone extending down my jaw.

"Comm check," Haymitch's voice crackled in my ear.

"I hear you," I replied. Katniss muttered something a single word that may have been "yeah," or "okay." Or maybe she just grunted.

I could feel myself tensing up as the hovercraft lurched into a steep bank. I only caught quick glimpses of Twelve as we came in, and what I saw I didn't like. Finally, the hovercraft straightened, flared, and settled to the earth with a thump.

"We'll be orbiting above the district the whole time," Haymitch's voice crackled in my earpiece. "Say the word and you'll be off the ground in thirty seconds. Stay in constant contact, and don't argue with Jackson. On security, her word is final."

The rear ramp dropped with a thump and Jackson, along with her security squad, charged out, closely followed by Messalla, Castor, and Pollux. Haymitch's voice once again crackled in my earpiece.

"All right, you two," he said dryly. "It's showtime."

* * *

It's gray everywhere.

Every step we took raised a puff of gray ash. The hovercraft rose almost noiselessly into the still air, pausing for a moment before it slowly moved away, settling into a slow orbit around Twelve. The security squad had formed a rough circle, with Katniss and I in the center, while Messalla, along with Castor and Pollux, are recording everything.

Castor was panning his helmet cam from left to right, slowly describing a complete circle, while Pollux had his camera focused solely on Katniss and I. We're standing in what used to be the Square. The granite Justice Building, its imposing gray walls now blackened by the fire, was the only structure that is still standing. Everything else...every building constructed of wood...is nothing more than mounds of charred wood and ash.

It's quiet...almost unearthly. There's no sound, aside from a few muted commands from Jackson to her soldiers. I glanced over at Katniss. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide as she took in the devastation around us. Katniss looked at me, no longer angry...at least for now.

I gave her what I hoped is a reassuring smile as I stepped toward her, only to hear something crunch under my boot. I moved my foot and, underneath the ash, I can see what I stepped on. It's the skeletal remains of a human hand.

I've survived the Third Quarter Quell. I've killed people, both in and out of the arena. I've seen death up close. But this...suddenly I find myself wishing that I hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, as I suddenly collapsed to my knees, bend at the waist, and vomit violently.

I'm dimly aware of a hand on my shoulder as I throw up. Haymitch's voice crackled in my ear. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," I managed to reply. I looked up at Katniss. Wordlessly, she held out a water bottle. I took it gratefully, swishing a mouthful of water around in my mouth before spitting it into the ash. "Thanks," I muttered as I looked up at her.

Katniss's mouth twitched up in the ghost of a smile as she held out her hand and helped me back onto my feet. "Katniss...Peeta," Messalla said firmly. "What are you seeing right now?"

Messalla's voice snapped me back to the reason why we are here, and it must have had the same effect on Katniss. "We...it's all gone," Katniss said haltingly. "It's burned to the ground."

"What is, Katniss?" Messalla asked.

"District Twelve," she all but whispered. "It's gone."

"Peeta?" I swivel my head toward Messalla. "Describe for us where we are right now."

I quickly glance around, orienting myself on the Justice Building. "Uhh...we're in what used to be the Square, in the middle of town." I begin pointing out places where different businesses used to be. "That was Cartwright's Shoe Shop. Over there was Rooba's Butcher Shop. The Donner's Sweet Shop was right over there." I pause for a moment. "That...that, over there, is...was Mellark's Bakery."

"All destroyed in the firebombing ordered by the Capitol. Ordered by President Snow." Messalla said, adding his own narrative.

"Look over there," Katniss said. She's pointing toward where the Seam used to be. There's smoke rising into the nearly cloudless sky.

"That's smoke," I said needlessly. "But...but...there's nothing left to burn."

"We're over it right now," Haymitch's voice crackles in my earpiece. "It's a jagged line about a hundred meters long. Boggs and I think that it may be a coal seam fire. Firebombs probably detonated close to one of the mine entrances and the firebombs ignited a coal seam."

"Haymitch said that it's probably a coal seam fire," I said, for the benefit of the cameras.

"A coal seam fire," Katniss whispered, "in the Seam." Something in the tone of her voice makes me glance sharply at her. One look at her face tells me that she's having trouble handling being here.

I look back at Messalla. "Give us a minute," I said, taking Katniss by the arm and leading her a few steps away. Katniss's body stiffened when I first touched her but she relaxed almost instantly and allowed me to guide her.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Because if you're not I'll call Haymitch and -"

"I'm fine," Katniss practically snapped. "And no calls to Haymitch. I have to do this. _We_ have to do this."

"Everything okay down there?" Haymitch's voice crackles once again in my earpiece. Judging from her reaction, Katniss heard the same thing.

"We're fine, Haymitch," Katniss replied. She turned towards Messalla and his crew. "Let's continue."

"Wait," Haymitch ordered. "We want you to head toward the train station. It's intact, believe it or not. I gotta warn you, though...we can see quite a few bodies littered about."

Katniss nods tersely. "Okay. Heading that way now." She turns to Messalla. "Did you get all that?"

Messalla nodded. "We copied. We'll be right behind you."

"On your feet," Jackson called out softly. The security squad rose to their feet, weapons ready, although we haven't seen anything move since our arrival here. Jackson turned back to Katniss and I. "Which way?"

I pointed to my left. "It's over there."

We slowly moved through the remains of the Square with the soldiers forming a protective bubble around us. Every so often I heard something crunch under my boots. I swallowed heavily and tried not to think about what I was stepping on.

"Where are we headed, Katniss?" Messalla asked. Katniss glanced at him sharply, until she remembered that he was asking for the benefit of the cameras.

"The train station," Katniss replied slowly. "Haymitch said that it's still standing."

The soldier walking "point" (which is what Jackson called the soldier out in front) saw it first, but all of us could smell it long before it came into view. Haymitch had said that he could see bodies on the ground. And, even after several weeks, the smell hung strongly in the still summer air.

Suddenly the lead soldier stopped. "Son of a bitch!" She snarled, whipping her rifle up to her shoulder and firing off three quick shots, pausing, then firing off three more. The other soldiers reacted instantly, dropping to one knee, rifles up as they searched for targets. Katniss and I stopped also, along with Messalla, Castor, and Pollux...all of us half crouching, unsure exactly what to do.

"Were those shots?" Haymitch's voice was frantic in my ear.

"Jackson, report!" Boggs's voice joined Haymitch's.

"Stand by," Jackson replied tersely, as she rose up and jogged toward the lead soldier, who was still aiming her rifle at some unseen enemy. I could see, but not hear, Jackson speaking to the soldier, her face wrinkled in disgust, before she turned back toward us and made a "come on" gesture with her hands.

"It's all right," Jackson said as she reported back to Boggs. "There's no threat." The lead soldier had relaxed a bit, lowering her rifle, but she was still glaring in the general direction of the train station. Piles of charred debris from collapsed buildings blocked our view of the train station, except for its roof, as well as whatever it was that the soldier had been shooting at...at least, until we reached the point where she was still standing.

"Oh, shit," Katniss whispered. Bodies littered the street...mostly Peacekeeper, but a few district residents as well. Bloated, decomposing, and barely recognizable as human, except for their clothing, the bodies also showed signs of animals having fed on them as well. A pair of large, dead dogs, their blood pooling under their bodies, were lying close by.

"Next time, don't waste ammo on dogs," Jackson ordered sharply.

The lead soldier clenched her jaw. "Yes, ma'am."

It was pretty apparent why she had shot the dogs, judging from the tears in clothing and the flesh missing from the Peacekeeper's bodies. There were more dogs further down the street, milling around silently, keeping a wary eye on our group. I saw Katniss tense at the sight, and for good reason. Dogs weren't common in District Twelve. These were wild dogs, from outside the fence. And, if dogs could get in here, other predators could as well.

Castor and Pollux were busy recording everything. Messalla approached Katniss and I. "Any thoughts as to why the train station was spared?"

I shook my head. "No." Katniss didn't even say that much.

Messalla pointed to a large wood-framed building at the end of the station. "That's the freight office and warehouse," he said. "Let's take a look."

We walked toward the building, grateful to be leaving the grisly scene of half-eaten people behind us. The soldiers trotted ahead to check out the building, peering into windows as Jackson tried the door. It opened with a creak. She glanced inside, pulling her head out abruptly, gasping once loudly.

"Do you plan on going in there?" Jackson asked Messalla.

"Only if there's something to see for the propo," he replied.

Jackson shrugged a pack off of her back. "Oh, there's plenty to see, all right." She opened the pack and pulled several masks out...rubber things with filters that covered the lower part of the face. She quickly handed two to Katniss and I, and three more to Messalla, Castor, and Pollux.

"Put these on," she ordered, "like this." Jackson demonstrated, fitting the rubber cone over her nose and mouth, slipping the straps behind her head, and pulling the straps tight.

We all complied quickly as the first sickly sweet odor of death wafted from the freight building. I pulled the straps tight, taking a few experimental breaths, noting that the death-smell had disappeared. I turned to Katniss. "Are you okay?"

Katniss certainly didn't look okay. Her eyes were wide and the sides of the mask were dimpling in and out rapidly with her breathing. "I'm fine," she snapped. Great. Even surrounded by death, she's still pissed at me.

"Come on," Jackson said tersely. In single file, we followed her into the darkness beyond the half-opened door.

* * *

It's dark inside the freight warehouse, the only light coming from the few dirty windows. It's hot, too...hotter than outside...and stuffy, even with our masks on. It's been a long time since any doors or windows were opened here.

Our eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dim light. I noticed that the rest of the security squad stayed outside. Jackson was the only soldier to accompany us into the building.

"Peeta," Messalla's muffled voice said. "Describe where we are."

"In the freight warehouse, next to the train station," I replied, my own voice sounding just as muffled. "Why didn't this burn also?"

"It was spared deliberately," Jackson said, glancing around the room, her eyes lingering on the corpses of a half-dozen Peacekeepers, huddled near the center of the room. "Still," she continued, "the winds must have been favorable that day. Otherwise this place would have gone up like everything else."

We approached the bodies of the Peacekeepers. Bloated in death, they were all still clad in full armor, including helmets and face shields, and for that I was grateful. "Funny," Jackson continued, "there's almost no bullet holes in the walls, and the windows are all pretty much intact."

"That's strange, Lieutenant?" Messalla asked, as Castor's camera turned towards the soldier, even as she squatted next to one of the Peacekeepers.

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "Yeah, it is. Look." Reluctantly, Katniss and I stepped closer to the Peacekeeper she was examining. "No evidence of blood. No bullet wounds." She quickly examined the other Peacekeepers. "No apparent wounds on any of them. Helmets are intact. Their armor isn't compromised." I noticed that she didn't touch any of them as she spoke.

"So, how did they die?" Katniss asked softly.

Jackson straightened up. "I'm no pathologist," she said. "But they weren't shot. My guess is smoke inhalation from the fires outside." She pointed toward the back of the warehouse. "Looks like more back there."

"They suffocated," I said softly. I suddenly felt sorry for these dead Peacekeepers. They didn't die in battle. They took refuge in here when the bombs fell...perhaps noticing that the train station was not being targeted...and suffocated.

"They were left to die," Katniss muttered.

"I didn't quite hear you, Katniss," Messalla said, as Pollux trained his camera on her.

"They were left to die!" Katniss practically shouted. She whirled around, her mask heaving in and out, her eyes blazing angrily. "Look at them. Not a mark on any of them. They were alive when the bombs fell...and Snow sacrificed them. _He let them die!_ "

"I hope every Peacekeeper in Panem sees this!" Katniss was definitely shouting now. "Look at them. Look at how much Snow cares about your life. Is that the kind of man you want to fight for? Snow doesn't give a shit about you. He left them to die...and he'll do the same to you!"

"Peeta?" Messalla turned to me. "Anything to add?"

"No," I replied quietly. "No, I think Katniss said it all."

In my ear, I could hear Haymitch's voice crackle faintly in my earpiece. "Holy fuck. Plutarch is gonna _love_ this."

 **PART IV**

 _Andromeda Snow, along with her best friend, Sperantia Blackstone, was watching "The Capitol Stage," her favorite talent program on Capitol TV, when the image suddenly flickered, steadied, flickered again, and then faded out._

 _"Shit," Speri muttered in disgust. "Just when that cute boy from the Tower district was gonna sing!"_

 _Meda tapped the remote control as the broadcast continued to flicker and flutter. "That's weird," she said. "We're supposed to be on a closed feed here."_

 _The image suddenly stabilized, the projection filled with the face of a dark-skinned, middle-aged man wearing thick glasses and a short beard. "Hello, Panem," the man said. "Stand by for an important message from the Mockingjay."_

 _Meda frowned. That man looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite put a name to the face. She just wanted her talent program back. "Who's this guy?" She muttered as she continued to work the remote control._

 _"The 'Mockingjay?' A message from a bird?" Speri said in disbelief. "Meda, where's 'The Capitol Stage?' Get it back!"_

 _"I'm trying, Speri," Meda said. "I'm -"_

 _The projected image is suddenly replaced by a view of rubble and destruction, narrated by another man's voice. "This is what's left of District Twelve," the man is saying. "Destroyed by the Capitol during the Reaping Day Uprising." The view shifted slightly, and Meda gasped in surprise and delight._

 _"Speri, that's Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!" She said excitedly. "But they're not in District Twelve! I've been there before. It's not all burned up like that!"_

 _"Oh, Meda," Speri said, half playfully, half in disgust. "You are_ such _a fangirl! Look at you...mooning over that traitor Peeta Mellark like he's some kind of -"_

 _"Shut up, Speri," Meda replied coldly. "I've met Peeta. He's kind, and gentle, and -"_

 _"- he killed a Peacekeeper," Speri pointed out. "With a knife. Or have you forgotten?"_

 _Meda chewed on her lower lip. She had watched unedited video of the Reaping Day Uprising in District Twelve, courtesy of a flash drive that Minister Blackstone, Speri's father, had carelessly left unsecured, and had seen first-hand Peeta throw the knife that had killed a Peacekeeper. Still..._

 _"I haven't forgotten," Meda finally replied. "But he must have had good reason."_

 _"Of course he did," Speri said confidently. "He's a traitor."_

 _"Stop calling him that!" Meda snapped angrily._

 _"Oh, Meda," Speri said softly. "I know how much you like them both. But face facts. Everything that's happened in Twelve is their fault. And my father says that it's only a matter of time before we get the other Rebel districts like Four and Eight under control again."_

 _Meda wasn't so sure. Her grandfather was working very late hours every single day and was growing more and more short-tempered...even with her. Meda turned her attention back to the Holo-TV, where Katniss was shouting something angrily._

 _"I hope every Peacekeeper in Panem sees this!" Katniss was shouting. "Look at them. Look at how much Snow cares about your life. Is that the kind of man you want to fight for? Snow doesn't give a shit about you. He left them to die...and he'll do the same to you!"_

 _Katniss was gesturing toward a bunch of Peacekeepers lying on a wooden floor. They were very still, and Meda realized with a shock that they were all dead._ Dead because of Grandpa, according to Katniss, _she said to herself._

 _"Andromeda," a soft voice said quietly from behind her. Meda and Speri both turned to see Meda's grandfather, President Coriolanus Snow, standing in the bedroom doorway. "Turn the television off."_

 _Meda fumbled with the remote, hastily turning off the Holo-TV. "Grandpa, I-"_

 _Snow held up one white-gloved hand. "Enough. And you are not to speak of this broadcast to anyone." He looked pointedly at Speri. "Either of you. Do you both understand?"_

 _"Yes, Grandpa," Meda replied quietly._

 _"Yes, sir," Speri said, her voice trembling slightly._

 _Snow allowed his lips to curl up in a small smile. "Good girls. Sperantia, it's getting late. You should be getting home. My driver is downstairs. He will take you."_

 _"Yes, sir," Speri said again. She turned to Meda, giving her friend a quick hug. "I'll see you at school tomorrow."_

 _"Bye, Speri," Meda said, returning her hug. Speri quickly left the room, carefully brushing by Coriolanus Snow. She didn't look back._

 _"Andromeda," Snow said softly, but firmly. "Perhaps you should finish your homework now. It's getting late."_

 _"Yes, Grandpa," Meda said. "Are we still going to the lake on Sunday?"_

 _"The lake," Snow repeated, his brow furrowed in a frown. "I'm afraid not. Something has...come up. And I will require your father and mother to assist me on Sunday. I'm sorry, Andromeda. Some other time."_

 _Meda tried to swallow her disappointment. The lake was one of her favorite places. "Yes, Grandpa," she said quietly. "Some other time."_

 _"That's a good girl," Snow said, giving his granddaughter a tight smile. "Goodnight."_

 _"Goodnight, Grandpa," Meda replied as Snow shut the door behind him. As the door closed, she heard her grandfather say to someone that she didn't even know was there, "Tomorrow, remove the Holo-TV from Andromeda's room."_

 _"Yes, sir," a voice replied instantly._

 _Meda didn't do her homework right away. She didn't because she was thinking about what she had seen on the Holo-TV...with Katniss and Peeta in what they said was District Twelve. And she also thought about what her grandfather said...both to her and to the unseen person that had been standing in the hallway the entire time._

 _Andromeda Snow was confused. Confused by everything that has happened since Reaping Day. Confused by the ever-increasing distance between her and her beloved grandfather. And confused by something that she had never before felt with her grandfather until this night._

 _For the first time in her life, Andromeda Snow was afraid of her grandfather._


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

 **PART I**

I was standing at rigid attention as the drill sergeant made his way slowly down my squad. He's a hatchet-faced man maybe ten years older than me, whipcord-lean, with close-cropped hair and a brushy mustache the color of wheat. He stopped before each trainee, sometimes inspecting their rifle, sometimes asking questions, sometimes both. And he almost always found fault with each trainee.

I forced myself to relax, staring at the head of the trainee directly in front of me in the next rank. Drill Sergeant Duffy was a notorious hard-ass, universally despised by every trainee under his tutelage. And, it would seem, the feeling was mutual, as Duffy had been saddled with training a platoon almost all of the trainees were either District Twelve refugees or District Six train crewmen. Unlike our District Thirteen counterparts, we haven't had the advantage of several years of military-style living prior to beginning formal training...not to mention the fact that most trainees go through basic training at the age of fourteen. Most of us are at least several years older.

Most, but not all. Rory Hawthorne currently occupied the position at the far right of the squad...the position of trainee squad leader. He took to basic like he was born for it, and rarely incurred Drill Sergeant Duffy's wrath. Rory was an ideal District Thirteen soldier...he obeys orders instantly, and without question, he's aced every phase of training so far, and his hatred for anything Capitol was very apparent...even when he was forced to deal with one of the Capitol expatriates here in Thirteen.

However, the only thing that was of immediate importance was Drill Sergeant Duffy's opinion of my personal appearance, the cleanliness of my rifle, and whether or not I can answer any questions that he may fire at me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him perform a sharp facing movement, stopping in front of the trainee to my immediate right, who executed a sharp "inspection arms" movement, bringing her rifle up sharply, snapping the bolt open, and standing with the rifle ready for inspection.

Drill Sergeant Duffy looked the trainee up and down, his eyes seemingly scanning every square centimeter. "Soldier Undersee," he snapped, "what is your First General Order?"

"Drill Sergeant," Madge Undersee barked out, "my First General order is to guard everything within the limits of my post and quit my post only when properly relieved."

"What is the maximum effective range of your rifle, Soldier Undersee?" Duffy asked sharply.

"Drill Sergeant, the maximum effective range of my rifle is five hundred meters," Madge replied just as sharply.

"What is the second lifesaving step in first aid, Soldier Undersee?" Duffy asked.

"Drill Sergeant," Madge replied confidently, "the second lifesaving step in first aid is to stop the bleeding and protect the wound."

Without warning, Duffy's hand shot out as he grabbed the stock of Madge's rifle with an audible "slap," jerking it from her grasp as her hands immediately dropped to her side. Duffy examined her rifle with a critical eye, spinning it upwards to peer into the barrel, running his finger into the chamber, and finally upending the rifle, carefully examining the stock and butt. He grunted softly and thrust the rifle back at Madge, who caught it deftly, releasing the bolt, pulling the trigger, and lowering the rifle back to the position of "order arms."

"Little too much oil on the bolt, soldier," Duffy said quietly. "Otherwise, outstanding work."

I didn't need to see Madge to know that she was smiling. "Thank you, Drill Sergeant."

"Don't thank me, soldier," Duffy replied gruffly. "You did it, not me."

I made sure that my eyes were locked on the back of the trainee's head directly to my front as I heard Duffy execute a sharp "right face" and step into my field of vision.

Duffy's gimlet eyes bored into mine as I snapped my rifle up, fumbling a bit as I worked the bolt, dropping my eyes just long enough to inspect the chamber to ensure that the rifle was, in fact, clear and unloaded. When I raised my head again I forced myself to stare at a spot on Duffy's forehead in an attempt to avoid his eyes and the uneasiness I always felt whenever I knew that he was looking in my direction.

"That was clumsy, Soldier Mellark," Duffy remarked conversationally. "I've seen a better 'inspection arms' from a monkey mutt. Or perhaps you've decided to replace your fingers with a few extra thumbs?"

I didn't respond, because there was nothing that I could say. I was clumsy when executing the "inspection arms," and, for a single, terrifying moment, I had been afraid that I was going to drop my rifle in the mud.

Suddenly Duffy snatched the rifle from my hands. "What is the loaded weight of your rifle, Soldier Mellark?" He asked as he inspected my rifle.

"Three kilos, Drill Sergeant," I replied instantly.

Duffy stopped his inspection for a moment and looked at me with arched eyebrows. "Three kilos is the _loaded_ weight, Soldier?"

Shit. The magazine added another half-kilo. "No, Drill Sergeant. The loaded weight of my rifle is three and a half kilos."

"Are you sure?" Duffy asked sarcastically.

I swallowed heavily. "Yes, Drill Sergeant."

Duffy grunted and went back to inspecting my rifle. "And what is the sustained rate of fire?" He asked as he worked his finger into the chamber. Secretly I hoped that he would release the bolt by mistake and end up with a broken finger for his troubles. No such luck.

"Eighty to one hundred rounds per minute, Drill Sergeant," I replied.

Without warning, Duffy thrust my rifle back at me, dropping his hands without waiting to see if I had caught it or not. I hadn't. I managed to juggle the rifle for a second or two before it fell to the ground with a loud clatter. _Oh, shit_. I heard a collective gasp from the other trainees when the rifle hit the ground. I had just committed an unforgivable sin. I had _dropped my rifle_.

Duffy's expression never changed even as his eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Soldier Mellark," he said in a soft, deadly calm voice. "Pick up your rifle."

I immediately bent down and retrieved my rifle, now splattered with mud. Although District Thirteen did almost everything underground, much of the military training is done "topside," as they referred to the outside world. And it had rained earlier in the day, turning the light layer of dust on the ground in Training Area Alpha into a thin later of mud. I quickly assumed the position of "order arms," with the butt of my rifle resting on the ground next to my right boot, and waited for the inevitable bolt of lightning to flash down from the sky to strike me down.

Duffy stepped to one side. "Soldier Mellark," he barked. "Port _arms!"_ I snapped my rifle up and held it diagonally across my chest. "Fall out and follow me," Duffy ordered. I complied with his order and followed him to the front of the platoon.

"Face the platoon," Duffy ordered. I instantly obeyed this order, turning and facing my fellow trainees. "Rifle push-ups," Duffy announced, before giving me another order. "Front leaning rest position, _move!_ "

Immediately I dropped down into the push-up position and carefully laid my rifle across the backs of my hands so that no part actually touched the ground, and waited. "Take a good look, trainees," Duffy said. "This piece of maggot shit dropped his rifle." My arms trembled slightly from the strain, but I wasn't about to give this asshole the satisfaction. "Soldier Mellark," Duffy continued. "Fifty push-ups, your pace, silent count, to your rifle. Begin."

Silently I began. For a brief moment I was tempted to cheat...after all, Duffy did say "silent count" instead of "sound off"...but somehow I knew that he would know if I shaved a few push-ups off. And, as I rhythmically raised and lowered myself, Duffy addressed the platoon.

"Your rifle is your life, soldiers," Duffy said, his voice firm and confident. "A soldier without a rifle is nothing. A rifle without a soldier is nothing. Together, you are a fighting machine. Remember that and treat your rifle better than you treat yourself."

I finished my push-ups and remained in position. Duffy glanced over his shoulder and barked "On your feet" at me. I immediately sprang to my feet, careful not to let my rifle drop to the ground again, and assumed the position of "order arms." Duffy watched me as I clambered to my feet, and once I was standing at attention again he gave me another order. "Stand fast, Soldier Mellark."

I stood facing the platoon while Duffy completed his inspection. The faces of the refugees from Districts Six and Twelve were unsmiling, and I could see a few...Madge Undersee among them...that were embarrassed for me. However, the District Thirteen trainees were, for the most part, regarding me smugly, and a few weren't even trying to hide their smirks. I stared back at them, my face impassive, and hoped that Duffy would finish soon.

Finally, Drill Sergeant Duffy completed his inspection and took his place in front of the platoon. "Squad leaders, see me in fifteen minutes for inspection results. Soldier Mellark, stand fast. The rest of you, fall out."

The platoon quickly dispersed, leaving me standing on that muddy field in the middle of Training Area Alpha. Duffy stepped in front of me and looked me up and down. "Stand at ease," he ordered gruffly. I immediately relaxed, moving my feet slightly apart and placing my free hand in the small of my back.

"Why are you here, Soldier Mellark?" Duffy asked suddenly.

I frowned slightly at the question. "I don't understand, Drill Sergeant."

Duffy sighed impatiently. "I'll rephrase that. You aren't going to be expected to really fight. You're going to go out into the field strictly for propaganda stunts. So why are you wasting my time pretending that you want to be a soldier? You're a _hee-ro_ , boy!" The sarcasm that he attached to his exaggerated pronunciation of the word "hero" was not lost on me. "You're a _Victor_! You're President Coin's prized pet. At least Everdeen has the common sense to not pretend that she wants to be a soldier."

I stood quietly, not replying, feeling my jaw muscles clenching in anger. "We ain't goin' to war with a bunch o' scared kids, Soldier Mellark. These won't be pushover Tributes that wet their pants and shit themselves before they lay down to die. These are _Peacekeepers!_ And right now, we're outnumbered. One of ours has to be as good, if not better, than ten of theirs."

"Ishmael Brennan and Aurora Chamberlain weren't pushovers," I replied tightly. "And I've killed a Peacekeeper."

"You got lucky, _hee-ro_ ," Duffy said. "And you knifing that Peacekeeper, in my opinion, was about on par with a sucker punch." He paused, looking me in the eye. "I'll ask again. Why are you here?"

"Drill Sergeant," I replied evenly, "I don't think you would understand."

For a moment, I was afraid that I might have crossed the line with this man. Instead, all he said was "Report to me in thirty minutes for re-inspection. Dismissed."

Duffy turned and strode away without waiting for my response. I sighed heavily and looked down at my rifle, now liberally splattered with mud. Thirty minutes to clean it and report to Drill Sergeant Asshole. I didn't have time to waste.

I waited for a minute until Duffy had time to clear the elevator before stepping into my own car and calling up Level Twenty. _Shit. My drill sergeant hates me and Katniss is still barely speaking to me._ For about the tenth time today I wondered if I haven't made a mistake. _It's too late to back out now, though. I have to see this through._

The elevator lurched to a groaning halt and I stepped into Level Twenty, immediately turning toward my quarters. I had just enough time to give my rifle a final quick cleaning before I had to report to Duffy. I just hoped the re-inspection wouldn't take long.

I needed to pay the hospital a quick visit. I needed to see how Beetee and Finnick were doing.

 **PART II**

"Thanks for stopping by, Peeta," Finnick said, glancing at me nervously. He's sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, compulsively tying and untying knots in a short length of rope. "Katniss was here earlier. She's looking well."

I sat forward in my chair. "Did she tell you?"

"About you two visiting what's left of Twelve?" He asked. "Or about you joining the army?"

For a brief instant there had been a flash of the old Finnick Odair...cocky, sarcastic, yet funny and engaging at the same time. But that instant faded quickly. "Both, I guess," I muttered in reply.

Finnick glanced down at the rope that he was viciously twisting. "Four was bad, the last time I saw it. But it hadn't been burned to the ground." He looked back up at me. "Do you have nightmares?"

I nodded once. "Yeah."

"Me too." Finnick yanked on the rope. "Old ones...and new." He tossed the rope onto his bed. "I spend half my time convincing myself that we did the right thing...and half the time wishing that we had just left everything alone." A solitary tear rolled down each cheek. "You're lucky. You still have Katniss. I...it's not worth it without Annie."

"Have you heard anything?" I asked gently. I reached over and grasped one of his hands firmly in mine. He returned my grip with surprising strength.

Finnick shook his head. "No. Not a word."

"That's a good thing, then."

Finnick suddenly stood up, releasing his grip on my hand. "That's what I keep telling myself," he said with a sigh. "Things were so fucked up in Four. I doubt if they've straightened anything out there. I can't stand this not knowing."

"Have you talked to Plutarch?" I asked.

Finnick nodded, staring out the window of his room at the corridor beyond. "He doesn't know anything either. He says he's 'working on it.'" There was bitterness in Finnick's voice. "Annie is my life, Peeta. My life."

I nodded my head in understanding. "I know," I said gently. "You just have to have faith that she's okay."

"That's all I have right now," Finnick murmured. "Let's change the subject," he said abruptly. "So I gather Katniss is royally pissed at you about the army thing."

I sat back in my chair. "That's the understatement of the year," I muttered. "And you don't need to sound so happy about it."

Finnick cracked a smile for the first time. "Right now my only pleasure is in the misfortunes of others." He turned and sat back down on the bed. "Seriously though, she wouldn't be this pissed if she didn't give a shit about you."

"I guess," I replied. "I can't even talk to her. She just shuts me out."

"Trust me," Finnick said. "If she didn't love you she wouldn't have given two shits about you joining up."

"I didn't 'join up,'" I practically snapped. "I just want to get some practical weapons training, that's all."

Finnick looked at me slyly. "Oh, is that all it is? Listen, there's easier ways to learn how to shoot."

"That's just part of it," I replied defensively. "Look, we're gonna be shooting more of these propos, and I'm pretty sure that they won't involve us walking around in District Twelve again." I paused for a moment before continuing. "Finnick, Katniss has her bow. You know how deadly she is with that thing. But if I go in with nothing...well, what kind of message will that send to Panem? 'Katniss Everdeen and her sidekick, Peeta what's-his-name?'"

"So, it's all about your ego?" Finnick asked sharply. "Peeta Mellark has a problem with Katniss Everdeen having to protect his delicate ass?"

"That's not it at all!" I practically shouted.

"Then what is it?" Finnick looked at me, one eyebrow arched, as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Katniss is who they want. She's the 'Mockingjay!' It won't matter if they lose me. They _can't_ lose Katniss!" I pause and take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. "We've been told that we'll have a squad with us for protection, but _I_ need to be able to protect Katniss...and I can't do it by tossing knives!"

"Seems to me you did just that in Twelve during the Reaping Day Uprising," Finnick pointed out.

"And Katniss _still_ got shot," I replied. "Finnick, as much as Annie is your life, Katniss is mine. I _have_ to do better."

"Then you need to tell _her_ ," Finnick said softly. "Make her listen, if she's being her usual stubborn self. But tell _her_. Tonight."

"Tonight," I repeated, and then I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Shit! I won't have time to visit Beetee and make it to dinner!"

Finnick chuckled softly. "Relax. They sprung Beetee today. He stopped in to say goodbye. Had a nice shiny new wheelchair."

I looked at Finnick in alarm. "They discharged him? Where did they take him?"

Finnick shrugged. "Fuck if I know. He was mysterious about it, and I didn't push it."

I took a moment to digest this. Beetee, released from the hospital, to somewhere else in District Thirteen. _It's his mind. His brain. Coin wants to put him to work. He was able to hack into the Capitol's comm system long enough to broadcast our first propo, and he did_ that _from his hospital bed. They had to wheel equipment into his room!_ "Well," I said slowly, "I guess I won't be late for dinner anyhow." I stood up to leave and stuck my hand out to Finnick. "I'll see you later, Finnick. Promise."

Finnick didn't shake my hand. He rose from his seat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. "Thanks for coming, Peeta. And thanks for not treating me like I'm about to break."

"Don't mention it," I replied as he released me. I give him a small smile. "Hang in there, okay? I have a feeling you'll get good news about Annie at any time."

He nodded, smiling ruefully. "I hope so." I turned to go. As I opened his hospital room door, his voice stopped me. "Peeta. You're wrong about one thing."

I stopped, holding the door open, and turned back toward him. "What's that?"

"When you said 'it won't matter if they lose me.' It _would_ matter. To a lot of people." He paused for a moment. "And to Katniss most of all." He gave me a pointed look. "Remember that, 'Soldier' Mellark."

I didn't know what to say, so I simply nodded, and left.

* * *

I made it in time for dinner. Katniss was conspicuously absent.

I filled my tray, sniffing at the unidentifiable processed meat, and found a seat at a table occupied by July Barrow and Madge Undersee. "Room for one more?"

"Always," Madge replied warmly, moving her tray slightly. There was another girl sitting with them that I didn't immediately recognize until I sat down and she greeted me.

"Hello, Peeta," Delly Cartwright said warmly, giving me a big smile.

"Delly!" I said in surprise. "I haven't seen you since -"

"Just about since we got here," Delly finished for me. "I know. It's okay, though. I know you've been busy."

"Not _that_ busy," Madge muttered between forkfuls. I glanced sharply at her, but her face was impassive as she continued to concentrate on the unappetizing meal in front of her.

I decided to ignore Madge's remark. "What have they got you doing, Delly? Making shoes?"

Delly chuckled. "Nothing like that. My parents and grandparents lost all their cobbling tools when we evacuated. They've been assigned other work here, as I have." She paused and her face creased in a wide smile. "I'm a liaison between the refugees and the administration here in Thirteen."

I nodded in agreement. Delly was a natural for a job like that...literally everyone liked her and those that didn't know her well would be quickly won over by her brilliant smile and engaging personality. "That sounds great, Delly," I said sincerely. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Peeta." Delly gives me another smile before turning to Madge. "And whatever possessed you to join the _army_ , Madge? I would have expected you to get some sort of job with District Administration or something."

Madge takes another bite before responding. "My father is working in Command, in some sort of mid-level bureaucratic job. Deputy Assistant something-or-other. Mother helps him...when she can. Some days her pain is just too much."

"I've seen your father. He was in a meeting with some doctor from the hospital and that refugee from Ten, Mr. Dalton," Delly added. This information surprised me. Why would Madge's father be in a meeting with some doctor and Dalton, who, as far as I know, still worked with the small herds of livestock that District Thirteen raised for food? "And you haven't answered my question, Madge," Delly added pointedly.

Madge carefully laid her fork on her tray. "It's like this," she said. "My father was the Mayor of Twelve before I was even born. I've never known any life other than being the 'Mayor's daughter.' She glanced at Delly and I. "I didn't want to go through life being 'the Mayor's daughter,' and encourage others to fight for a cause that I believe in...and not step forward and fight for that cause myself."

"Best soldier in the squad," July mumbled around a mouthful of food, causing a blush to form on Madge's cheeks.

"Better not let Rory Hawthorne hear you say that," I said with a grin. "Where is our fearless leader tonight anyway?"

"Up on Two," Delly replied with another smile. "Having dinner with Prim Everdeen and her mother."

I chuckled softly at this news. In spite of becoming increasingly insufferable, the blossoming romance between Rory Hawthorne and Primrose Everdeen was one of the happier items of gossip among the refugees...proof that even a war couldn't stop romance from happening even in a place as grim and colorless as District Thirteen. In the old District Twelve, something like this would have been dismissed as "puppy love." But, then again, in the old District Twelve fourteen year olds wouldn't be training as field medics...or as soldiers. And yet, they were both old enough, at twelve, to be Reaped...and killed...in the Hunger Games.

I dug into my dinner while listening to Delly prattle on about her new liaison duties. It seemed that the biggest issue was not with the District Twelve refugees assimilating into Thirteen, but rather with the Capitol expatriates having difficulty with the built-in prejudices of the District Thirteen residents.

"It's practically criminal how some of the Capitol people are treated," Delly said. "Denied services, denied goods, and having to wear those ankle trackers all the time! I do what I can for them, of course, but no one really listens to me. They're more than happy to help if it's for someone from Twelve, or Six, or even one of the Rebel Peacekeepers." She sighed heavily. "They need a voice. Someone that can speak for them in a way that I can't. I just don't really understand them well enough to be effective in fighting for them."

Her words gave me an idea. Quickly I finished my dinner and excused myself. I had one more person to speak to tonight. Maybe I could help Delly out with her problem.

* * *

I paused outside the door on Level Fifty-Two before rapping sharply on the door panels.

"Come," a voice called from the other side of the door. I pushed in the latch and slid the door open, spying a gaunt, solitary figure sitting at a desk, intently studying something on the computer screen before him.

"Dr. Picardo," I said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Picardo glanced up from the computer screen, the ghost of a smile twitching his mouth upwards. "Not at all, Mr. Mellark," he said with obviously forced joviality. "I was just doing a little private time study, trying to ascertain exactly where our hosts stand in terms of medical knowledge." He closed the screen on his laptop computer. "They are somewhat more advanced than the Everdeen Healers, but not quite up to snuff on the latest and greatest from the Capitol." He sighed. "Our hosts seem to have placed a great deal of emphasis on weapons development, and lip service to medicine. They are quite adept at various methods for taking apart a human body, and woefully inadequate on methods to put said body together again."

I smiled. "Well, maybe you can help them with that."

Picardo sighed. "Perhaps. So, what brings you to my humble abode?"

"I need to find one of the expats," I replied. "The lady from the Tribute Train that Haymitch called 'Duchess.'"

Picardo allowed himself a small smile. "Petronia Goldsmith. She lives on Level Eleven, I believe. From what I understand, she's been assigned vital refuse disposal duties."

"She hauls garbage?" I asked in surprise.

"All day, every day," Picardo replied. "And, like the rest of us, she's taking great pains not to disturb the status quo here."

"Do you know her quarters number?"

Picardo hesitated for maybe two seconds. "Before I tell you, please enlighten me on why you wish so badly to contact her."

"Do you know Delly Cartwright?" I asked, somewhat impatiently. I was not in the mood for questions and answers.

Picardo frowned slightly. "Blonde; somewhat, shall we say, 'padded,' smiles at everyone?"

"That's her," I nodded.

"I thought so." Picardo looked thoughtful. "I thought that perhaps she was, shall we say, somewhat 'challenged' at first, until I realized that her only illness was a terminal case of cheerfulness. What does she have to do with Petronia?"

"Delly has been assigned as a liaison between Thirteen and us refugees and expats. I thought that Miss Goldsmith might be able to help Delly smooth the transition," I replied.

Picardo waved me into a chair opposite him and as I sat down he leaned back in his own chair, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as a thoughtful look crossed over his face. "So Miss Cheerful needs help?" He asks.

"No," I replied. "You do."

Picardo's expression never changed. "Go on."

"Until recently," I continued, "you were cleaning bedpans. None of the Thirteens trusted you. And -

"They still don't," Picardo pointed out flatly.

"And," I said, ignoring his interruption, "it was the same way with the other Capitol expats. But now, you're working as a doctor, right?"

Picardo nodded slowly. "Thanks in large part to you, Mr. Mellark."

"But there's others...Miss Goldsmith, for example...who have skills and talents that are going to waste. And if I've learned anything from the Thirteens, it's that they hate waste of any kind." I pause for a moment. "Assigning Delly Cartwright as liaison was an important first step, but she's young...like me. She doesn't have the experience of someone like Miss Goldsmith."

Picardo looked at me thoughtfully. "I can see two problems with your idea. One, Petronia herself may not be interested, and two, there's no guarantee that our hosts will acquiesce and allow her to assist Miss Cheerful."

"Well," I said slowly, "do you really think that she would choose to stay in her current position of garbage collector?"

Picardo rubbed his chin. "Good point," he admitted. "But what about the powers that be here in this subterranean paradise?"

"Delly can be very persuasive," I replied with a grin, "especially when she points out Miss Goldsmith's organizational talents. After all, she _did_ manage the Capitol staff on Tribute Trains for many years."

I could see Picardo mulling over my arguments before he nodded his head slowly. "You are a very persuasive young man, Mr. Mellark. Have you ever considered a political career?"

I chuckled at Picardo's suggestion. "I just want this war to be over so we can all live peacefully." _Only Snow knows where, though,_ I thought. _With Twelve virtually destroyed. One thing at a time...I still have to live through the war._

Picardo picked up a small notepad and quickly scribbled something on it, before ripping the page off and handing it to me. "This is Petronia's assigned quarters number."

I took the paper and carefully folded it before sliding it into my shirt pocket. "Thank you, doctor." I stood up. "I'll go speak to her now."

Picardo stood up and offered me his hand. "Good luck, young Victor. And, if I may borrow an oft-repeated phrase, 'may the odds be ever in your favor.'"

I shook his hand firmly, all the while hoping that reason, rather than luck, would be all that was needed.

* * *

In spite of her current circumstances, Petronia Goldsmith still managed to carry herself with a haughty, almost regal, air about her...even while dressed in a shapeless gray coverall that, in spite of her best efforts, still carried the cloying odor of garbage.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly, young man," she said in her clipped Capitol accent that was at once similar, but yet slightly different, from the accent of Effie Trinket. "You are offering me a position as liaison between these Neanderthals and my own people?"

 _If she accepts, she will definitely have to work on her attitude!_ "Not exactly, ma'am," I replied respectfully. "I'm in no position to offer anything. However, Delly Cartwright could use the help of someone like you. She's enthusiastic but she needs someone with experience in dealing with people from different districts, such as yourself."

"Delly Cartwright," Petronia Goldsmith repeated softly. "Isn't she the blonde girl from your district that always sports the idiotic smile?"

"Dr. Picardo describes her as 'suffering from a terminal case of cheerfulness,'" I explained carefully while trying to keep my temper under control. "But yes, that's Delly."

"I wondered at first if she wasn't somewhat mentally challenged." She smoothed one hand over her glossy black hair, now cut short. I noticed that her once perfectly shaped fingernails were also clipped very short as well. "After all, isn't diminished mental ability somewhat of a hallmark of those living in such a backward district as Twelve?"

I clenched my hands into fists as I took several deep, controlled breaths. It's probably a good thing that my hands were hidden in my lap, under the table that we were both sitting at. "Delly is not challenged in any way," I replied stiffly. "She's one of those rare people that genuinely likes everyone that she meets. Although I would be willing to bet that she would make an exception in your case."

Petronia Goldsmith seemed to not hear my last comment. "I would be working for this Delly person?"

"With Delly," I corrected. "Not 'for' Delly."

"And you cannot provide me with a guarantee that I would be reassigned, should I accept?"

I took another deep breath. "If you agree, I will speak to Delly. _If_ she finds you acceptable, then she and I will speak with Plutarch Heavensbee about reassigning you."

"Plutarch," Petronia repeated softly. "I've known him ever since I started working for the Games...over twenty-two years ago. What a surprise to discover that he is a traitor."

"If the Rebellion is successful, he will be known as a hero," I said. "It's all a matter of perspective."

"Hmmph," she grunted softly. "Mr. Mellark, how old is this Delly Cartwright?"

"Eighteen," I replied. "The same as Katniss Everdeen and I."

"That's how old I was when I started working for the Games," she said thoughtfully. She glanced down at her lap before looking back up at me. "I must decline your offer."

"Why?" I asked. "Because of her age, or because of the fact that she is from District Twelve?"

"Both." She leaned forward slightly, a defiant look on her face. "I've nothing left but my pride. And that, Mr. Mellark, is something that you, or this so-called 'President' Coin, cannot strip away from me."

I stood up slowly. "You're right. Pride is all you have left. And, if the Capitol defeats the Rebellion, you can cling to your pride when they take you topside and summarily execute you." I paused at the door, my hand on the handle. "And, if the Rebellion defeats the Capitol, you can continue to cling to your pride as you spend the rest of your life hauling garbage." I slid the door open. "Thank you for your time, Miss Goldsmith. Goodnight."

I turned away from her and stopped, one foot out the door, when I heard her quiet voice behind me say, "Wait."

I turned back to face her. "You don't understand," she said as she rose to her feet. "For me, a Capitol citizen, to agree to work for an eighteen year old district resident...it simply isn't done. Pride _is_ all I have left." Her voice rose slightly as she spoke. "There's nothing noble or redeeming about any district resident that I've ever met. Twenty-two years of Tribute Trains have shown me nothing but a parade of crying, sniveling Tributes. I am only too aware of my fate should the Capitol prevail in your so-called Rebellion...which they will. I am sure of that. But I intend to meet my fate with dignity."

"Would you be so 'dignified' if Colonel Boggs showed up here tonight and told you that you were going to be executed in two weeks, on national television?" I asked angrily. "And not quickly, with a bullet to the back of your head, but slowly and painfully?" I stepped back into her quarters and slammed the door behind me. "Because that's exactly what those 'crying, sniveling Tributes' heard when their names were read at Reaping. Not a chance to bring 'honor' to their district. No, what they just heard was their order of execution, and they all knew that they would most likely be dead within two weeks from Reaping Day. And these aren't adults...they were children...some only twelve years old. So they had every right to cry and snivel."

All Petronia Goldsmith could do during my tirade was to glare at me angrily. "Fuck this," I muttered as I turned back to the door. "By the way...you stink." I slid the door open and stepped through quickly, sliding it shut with a bang behind me. What a colossal waste of time. "Typical Capitolite," I muttered savagely as I made my way to the elevators. "She'd be pissing her pants if she was standing on a plate, sixty seconds from the gong."

Angrily I punched the button for my level and I was still fuming as I reached Level Twenty. I entered my quarters and banged my door closed as loudly as I had done with Petronia Goldsmith's. I glanced at the clock as I kicked off my boots and saw that I still had about ten minutes before my showers would work. I then checked my comm unit and saw that I had two messages pending.

The first was from Katniss, who tersely informed me of Beetee's discharge from the hospital and that he had been assigned to something called Research and Development. She finished by giving me Beetee's quarters number and level. I sighed heavily. That was it. I've had warmer messages from President Coin.

The second was from Petronia Goldsmith. It was just as terse. "Mr. Mellark," she said, "I've decided that I would be willing to discuss your offer further with Miss Cartwright. Please give her my quarters number and level. I will expect to hear from her tomorrow."

If I hadn't received Katniss's message first, I would almost be in a good mood now. As it was, I simply turned off the messages and finished stripping for my shower. I needed to clean up and get to bed. My platoon was going topside again first thing in the morning to practice close combat drills and something that Duffy had called the "holding attack."

The shower was, of course, too short to improve my mood. I toweled myself off and wrapped the towel around my waist as I left the bathroom. And I was shocked to discover that I had a surprise visitor.

Katniss was seated at my desk, arms folded across her chest, staring impassively at me.

 **PART III**

For several seconds, all I could do was gape in surprise. Ever since our return from the propo that we had shot in Twelve, Katniss and I had hardly seen each other. Of course, me starting military training about then hadn't helped matters much either.

"Surprised?" Katniss asked. I didn't answer because...well, yes, I _was_ surprised. "Did you get my message?" She continued.

"About Beetee?" Katniss nodded once, tightly. "Yes. I was going to visit him tonight but Finnick had told me that he had been sprung from the hospital earlier."

"I knew you had visited Finnick," Katniss said slowly. "Where did you go after dinner? I stopped by earlier and you weren't here," she added, almost accusingly.

"I talked with Delly at dinner," I explained, keeping my voice even only with effort. _You've been the one avoiding_ me... _and yet you expect me to be available when it suits you?_ "She's been assigned as a liaison between Thirteen and the refugees. I had the idea that maybe she could use some help from one of the Capitol people, so I went to see Dr. Picardo, and then Petronia Goldsmith, before -"

"Who?" Katniss asked sharply.

"Petronia Goldsmith," I explained patiently. "The woman that Haymitch calls 'Duchess.' So I went to talk to her about possibly working with Delly, and she agreed, although it took some doing."

"Sounds like you've been busy," Katniss observed sarcastically. "I would have thought that your would have gone right to bed tonight, considering all the push-ups that you had to do during the day."

 _Rory Hawthorne_ , I said to myself. I sighed and pulled out a chair, seating myself across from Katniss. "Go ahead and say it."

Katniss's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Say what?"

"What you came here to say, Katniss," I snapped. "About how stupid I am to request military training, and who do I think I am, and how selfish I am...have I left anything out?"

Katniss stares at me in surprise for a moment. "You're mad at _me?_ " She asks incredulously. "You're the one playing soldier, not me!"

I said nothing, but continued to stare at her from across the desk. "All right. I'll say it," she snapped. "You are stupid and selfish. You didn't even talk to me about this whole army thing. You just went ahead and did it!" She stared at me defiantly. "Now you say it."

"You have your bow," I replied softly.

"Huh?" Katniss furrowed her brow in confusion. "My bow? What does my bow have to do with anything?"

"Everything," I muttered. "Your bow is iconic. More importantly, you can use it. You're deadly with it." I paused for a moment. "But, no matter how good you are, you don't have eyes in the back of your head."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Katniss snapped.

"We're going to go into rebelling districts to shoot more propos," I replied. "Six, Eight, Ten...maybe eventually the Capitol itself. And don't you think Snow will make killing or capturing you a priority once he realizes where you are?"

"So what does my bow have to do with anything?" Katniss asked again.

"You're as deadly with a bow as a soldier with a rifle," I explained. "You can fight. But in the field, I'm next to useless."

"Is _that_ what all this is about?" Katniss asked. "Peeta, you're a champion wrestler, and you're as good with a knife as anyone -"

"A knife is a close-range weapon and you know it," I interrupted. "How can I protect you with a fucking knife?"

Katniss stared at me, wide-eyed, for about ten seconds before she spoke again. "Protect me?" She asked softly. "But...we have a squad for that."

"All the time?" I asked. "What happens if we lose part of the squad? What then? You don't have eyes in the back of your head, Katniss. Someone has to be there to protect just _you._ And that's me."

"What about you, Peeta?" Katniss asked in a choked whisper. "Who protects you?"

"Hopefully you do," I replied with a rueful smile. "Katniss, it all comes down to you. _You're_ the 'Mockingjay.' I've seen the special uniform that Cinna's designed for you. _You_ are the face of the Rebellion - not me." I shook my head. "No. You're the 'Mockingjay' and I'm Peeta Mellark, 'Mockingjay' sidekick. The Rebellion _needs_ you. No one really needs me."

"So you did this whole 'join the army' thing to protect me when we're in the field?" Katniss's voice was barely audible.

"Yeah," I murmured.

"Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?"

"I thought you would understand. But, I guess I was wrong. I -"

I never managed to finish my sentence. Katniss pushed herself out of her chair and practically launched herself across the desk, almost knocking me over when she collided with me. In the space of about one second we had gone from arguing to me holding an armful of crying girl.

"Damn you, Peeta Mellark!" Katniss sobbed. "You let me think that you were running off to go fight the Capitol in District Six or something!"

"As if Coin would ever allow me to do something like that," I replied quietly, suddenly uncomfortably aware that I was wearing nothing more than a towel, and Katniss had virtually plastered herself against me.

"And don't _ever_ say that no one needs you!" She pulled back and locked her silvery-gray eyes to mine. "Because I do. _I_ need you."

I opened my mouth to say something that would forever remain unsaid, because, before I could speak, Katniss pressed her lips firmly to mine. Whatever words I had been forming were lost in an unintelligible groan as her tongue slid into my mouth, eagerly seeking my own. And my single item of apparel, my bath towel, was totally ineffective at masking my rising desire.

Suddenly Katniss broke off our kiss and, breathing heavily, hauled me to my feet only to strip away the towel with one hand while simultaneously pushing me onto my narrow bed with the other. I could only watch in amazement as Katniss set a new speed record for stripping off her district-issued black clothing, which was immediately followed by me not thinking about anything else at all other than the exquisite sensations that threatened to overwhelm my senses.

* * *

"You were really pissed at me, huh?" Katniss asked quietly.

We were cuddled close together on my bed, the sheets a sweaty, tangled mess bunched up at our feet. Katniss's head rested against my chest, a few stray hairs tickling my nose. I shifted a bit, kissing the top of her head gently as I settled into a new position.

"Yeah," I admitted. "I was."

Katniss tilted her head up and looked at me. "I remember one other time you were that angry with me." Her fingers gently traced the contours of my face. "It was that day in the bakery, remember?"

"Yeah," I whispered, feeling my throat tighten. I closed my eyes at the memory of newly crowned Victor, Katniss Everdeen, coming into my family's bakery along with her younger sister, Primrose, to place an order to be delivered to the Hawthornes. "You...weren't very nice to my father, or to me, as I recall. And I really blew up at you."

"I deserved it," Katniss said softly. "That wasn't even two years ago, Peeta."

I shook my head. "Two years. A lifetime."

"Yeah," Katniss said. "A lifetime."

We lay together quietly for a few more minutes and I could feel my eyes begin to droop, when Katniss spoke again. "I have something to tell you."

I stirred slightly. "What?"

"Boggs and Jackson are teaching me how to shoot," she replied. "Nothing like your training," she added hastily. "Just giving me some pointers on how to handle the rifle and pistol that I'll be carrying in propos. It was Plutarch's idea. He said that it may be a good idea if I actually looked like I knew what I was doing."

"No bow?" I asked. "I would think that they would want you carrying that, as much as people identify you and the bow together."

Katniss shrugged. "All Plutarch said was that they have something special in mind for me."

"And how good a shot are you?" I asked.

Katniss chuckled. "Horrible. I can't hit shit."

Before I could reply the comm unit began to buzz insistently. "Shit," I muttered as I gently disengaged myself from Katniss and rolled out of bed. I stumbled to the desk and punched the "INCOMING CALL" button. "Yes?"

"There's a broadcast coming over your vid screen in a minute or two," Haymitch's voice said. "I'm assumin' Katniss is with you?"

"Yeah," I confirmed. "What's the broadcast about?"

"You'll see," Haymitch's voice replied grimly. "By the way, you're excused from training tomorrow. Meeting in Command at eight. See you then."

The comm unit went dead just as the video screen came to life. The District Thirteen seal displayed prominently, accompanied by some sort of military music. I felt Katniss's warmth at my side as she joined me, both of us unselfconsciously naked. I slipped my arm around her slender shoulders as an announcer intoned, "Stand by for an urgent announcement."

"What is it?" Katniss asks.

"I dunno," I replied. "Did you catch Haymitch saying that we have a meeting at eight tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Katniss said. "I wonder what's -"

The District Thirteen seal faded, replaced by the seal of Panem, along with the words, "THE STRONGEST AMONG US ARE NO MATCH FOR THE POWER OF THE CAPITOL." The seal, and the words, slowly faded, replaced by an image of two young women dressed in orange jumpsuits, their faces bruised and battered, but perfectly recognizable.

"Peeta," Katniss gasped. "That's Johanna Mason!"

"And Annie Cresta," I added. Poor Finnick. He had been in agony wondering what had happened to his beloved Annie. He didn't have to wonder any longer. She, along with Johanna Mason, was a prisoner of the Capitol. A prisoner of Coriolanus Snow. I shuddered slightly.

They probably would have been better off dead.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

 **PART I**

 _Andromeda Snow had always loved this time of year. Until this year, anyway._

 _Late summer always had been a time of change in the Capitol. The Games would be over; a new Victor crowned and sent back to his or her adoring district, and the Victory Tour buzz...carefully fueled Caesar Flickerman's broadcasts on Holo-TV...would begin to rise. But there were other changes that Andromeda loved. The days slowly getting shorter as the nights grew longer; the increasing frequency of rain and thundershower; the slight chill in the air in the mornings; and the impending turning of foliage were all events that Andromeda looked forward to._

 _But this year...this year was different. For the first time in memory, there had been no Games. In fact, Caesar Flickerman, who had built his career in broadcasting around the Hunger Games, hadn't even mentioned the Games for weeks. Andromeda knew that there were to be no Games this year, in spite of her grandfather's assurances that the Games would be merely delayed due to "isolated incidents of unrest and civil disobedience in some of the outlying districts." And, strangely enough, Andromeda felt a certain relief that the Games would not be conducted this year._

 _Andromeda didn't know of a life without the Games. She had grown up watching them every year, selecting her favorite Tribute as her friends did the same, cheering for them if they won, or, as was more often the case, crying for them if they lost. And, as the granddaughter of the President of Panem, she had met many Victors in her short life...kindly old Mags from District Four, and her charismatic fellow Mentor, Finnick Odair; gentle, soft-spoken Beetee Latier from District Three, along with his eccentric partner, Wiress; the quietly elegant Seeder from District Eleven, along with the jovial Chaff; matronly Cecilia from District Eight; surly Haymitch Abernathy from Twelve; and the sarcastic, rebellious Johanna Mason from Seven. She also knew many of the Career Victors from Districts One and Two - Gloss, Cashmere, Brutus, Enobaria, Lyme, and many others. But it wasn't until she met the Blood-Soaked Lovers from District Twelve that Andromeda was able to look at Victors in a different light. Meeting Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark made Andromeda Snow look at Victors as_ people.

 _When she had cajoled her grandfather into taking her to District Twelve for her fourteenth birthday, Andromeda had simply wanted to meet her two favorite Victors, especially Peeta Mellark, whose posters adorned the walls of her bedroom suite in the Presidential Palace. What she got from them were stories about their own humble beginnings. Katniss Everdeen, as it turned out, developed her almost inhuman skill with her bow because she had to hunt (illegally) just to be able to feed her family, while Peeta Mellark had worked in his families' bakery almost from the time he could walk, and had developed his impressive strength from his constant hefting of fifty-kilo sacks of flour. And neither looked at their participation in the Games as either honorable or noble. Instead, in spite of the fact that both Katniss and Peeta had volunteered, and both had trained...and fought...very hard, they had gone into their respective Games expecting to die._

 _Andromeda had experienced a moment of teenage petulance after meeting Katniss and Peeta, when the "Blood-Soaked Lovers of District Twelve" publicly announced their romantic relationship. Although it wasn't entirely unheard of...for example, there had been whispered rumors regarding Finnick Odair's involvement with his fellow District Four Victor, Annie Cresta...Katniss and Peeta were unusual in that they were both the same age, and, unlike Finnick and Annie, they seemed perfectly content in letting the entire country know of their romance. By this time, Andromeda's crush on Peeta had reached its peak, and she was devastated by the news...so much so that she removed her carefully hung Peeta Mellark posters from her walls as well as changing her hair style away from the Katniss Everdeen braid that had become so popular with many of her school friends._

 _As usual, it was her best friend, Sperantia Blackstone, that showed her just how childish her actions were...and, at fourteen, the last thing that Andromeda Snow wanted was to be viewed as childish. So gradually the posters returned to her walls, and once again she wore her long, light brown hair in a single, heavy braid. Eagerly she watched entertainment and gossip shows anytime there was a feature on either Katniss or Peeta, and she found herself counting down the days until Reaping Day, knowing that both of her favorite Victors would soon be returning to the Capitol, and she was sure that she would be able to use her influence (or rather, her grandfather's influence) and be able to spend some time with them both. Perhaps, they could even tell her more about what their lives had been like in District Twelve prior to becoming first Tributes, then Victors._

 _The Reaping Day Uprisings changed all that._

 _Andromeda was forced to face the fact that Katniss and Peeta had publicly committed treasonous acts against the Capitol, and, by extension, against her own beloved grandfather. She had seen with her own eyes and heard with her own ears as Katniss Everdeen denounced the Hunger Games, the Capitol, and President Coriolanus Snow. She watched as Peeta actually murdered a Peacekeeper who was in the execution of her assigned duties. And she knew that it would not end well for either Katniss or Peeta. Sperantia was fiercely Loyalist and seemed to take an almost perverse pleasure in reminding Andromeda of the fact that Katniss and Peeta would almost certainly be publicly executed once they were captured and all this Uprising nonsense was behind them once and for all. Even Andromeda was forced to admit that what Katniss and Peeta had done was not only unforgivable but indefensible as well._

 _Even so, Andromeda was an intelligent, observant girl. She had seen with her own eyes the crushing poverty of the Seam...the poorest section of the poorest district in Panem...and remembered that Katniss had told her that she herself had lived there for the first sixteen years of her life, until, of course, her Victory during the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games had thrown open the gates to Victors' Village. And the evidence that she saw with her own eyes had been directly contradictory to everything that she had been taught her entire life._

 _Andromeda, like every other child of the Capitol, had always been taught that the Capitol and the districts nurtured one another...the Capitol provided leadership, security, and governance, while each district, with their own unique industries, in turn provided the Capitol, and Panem as a whole, with the fruits of their labors. Of course, she had been taught about the Dark Days, when the thirteen districts rose up in rebellion against the Capitol, only to be defeated after a terrible, costly war. She had learned that one district, Thirteen, had been totally destroyed in this war, and that the surviving districts, along with the Capitol, sat down and negotiated the peace document that came to be known as the Treaty of Treason, and that, in order to preserve the hard-won peace for all future generations, a pageant of courage, honor, and sacrifice would be held every year henceforth, and that this spectacle would be known as The Hunger Games._

 _However, her visit to District Twelve didn't show her a district filled with happy, industrious coal miners, basking under the benevolent rule of her grandfather. Instead, the few actual district residents that she had seen looked fearful and beaten down. Peacekeepers seemed to be everywhere and an air of grim resignation hung over the entire district. Even Katniss and Peeta didn't appear to be as she had always seen them during their official public appearances. There, they had been smiling, laughing, waving to adoring crowds. Here, their demeanor was guarded and cautious, especially around her grandfather. It didn't take long for Andromeda to realize that the two newest Victors were actually_ afraid _of President Coriolanus Snow._

 _And now, Andromeda Snow shared their fear._

 _She had first felt the unfamiliar stirrings of fear immediately following the broadcast of Katniss and Peeta's visit to what they had claimed was the bombed-out remains of District Twelve. Prior to this broadcast, which had apparently been engineered by someone inside the Rebellion, there had been virtually no news out of Twelve, other than spotty reports of uprisings, unrest, and rebellion, so it had come as a shock to almost everyone that District Twelve had been virtually destroyed, and that many Peacekeepers had fallen victim to the rain of bombs from the sky...bombs dropped on the order of President Coriolanus Snow._

 _Her grandfather had changed in the long weeks since the Reaping Day Uprising. Even though he continued to assure Panem that the Rebellion was nothing more than a series of isolated, uncoordinated incidents, Andromeda knew better. She began to hear, from her friends at school, of shortages of everything from food to clothing to the latest and greatest in electronics. She had seen more Peacekeepers on the streets of the Capitol than she could ever remember seeing before. And her beloved grandfather was showing signs of the strain that these events were having on him._

 _Sperantia assured her that, according to her father, the Minister of Security, the Capitol and its Peacekeepers were winning everywhere there was unrest, Andromeda was not so sure. Because if the Peacekeepers were winning, that would mean that the Rebels were losing. So these shortages should stop...but they didn't. The Peacekeepers seemed to be winning the battles, but the Rebels didn't seem to be losing the Rebellion._

 _And, for Andromeda, the Rebellion became personal one fine, sunny afternoon._

* * *

 _School had just let out for the day. Andromeda attended a very exclusive private school near City Circle, along with Sperantia and all of her other friends. In other times a car and an armed driver would have met her immediately after the final bell. But these were different times. The school sat inside a walled compound, patrolled by uniformed Peacekeepers. Now, every car was stopped at the main gate and the driver was required to present identification...even when the car was there to pick up President Snow's granddaughter, and had its own Peacekeeper escort. So, more often than not, Andromeda was forced to wait for a few minutes until the vehicles could be cleared._

 _Andromeda didn't mind this, as it gave her time to chat and gossip with her friends one final time before heading home. She stood with Sperantia and some others as each student's mini-convoy was cleared. "I don't know about you," Sperantia grumbled, "but I will be_ so _happy when all this security bullshit is over, and we can go back to normal."_

 _Andromeda nodded. "Me too," she agreed, before changing the subject. "Listen, don't forget to call tonight. I'll know for sure by then if Grandpa will let me use the North Lawn for my Equinox party."_

 _Sperantia brightened a bit. "Do you think he will?" She asked eagerly._

 _"I think so," Andromeda replied. "Speri, he knows how important this is to me, and I promised him that we wouldn't be a bother. So if we get to do this, you have to_ promise _that you'll help me keep everyone under control!"_

 _Speri snorted. "Meda, you worry too much," she said with a laugh. "And I won't forget to call tonight. Look - there's our rides."_

 _Meda turned, following Speri's pointing finger at a pair of escorted limousines as they began to slow and pull over to the covered waiting area where the girls were standing. Meda turned and gave her friend a quick hug. "See you later," she said. "And call!" She added over her shoulder as she trotted up to the car, just as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out and opened the back door._

 _"Hello, Miss Andromeda," the man said in a deep, rich voice as he held the door open._

 _Meda flashed the man a quick smile. "Hi, Casca!" She carelessly tossed her backpack into the back seat and was turning to enter the car when the sound of shouting and squealing tires, coming from the direction of the front gate, caused her to look up. What she saw in the next few seconds would be something that she would remember for the rest of her life._

 _A car was speeding into the school grounds from the main gate, going far faster than any car Meda had ever seen drive here. As she watched, Peacekeepers at the main gate began firing guns at the car, even as someone in the car stuck a gun out of the back window and began to shoot back at the gate guards. The car swerved violently and the crackle of gunfire intensified as the Peacekeepers in the escort vehicles began to shoot at the invading automobile as well. Meda stood, frozen to the spot, as she suddenly realized that this speeding car was heading directly for the crowded waiting area._

 _Strong hands grabbed her from behind and bodily threw her into the waiting limousine, followed immediately by a heavy body landing on top of her so hard that the breath was forced from her lungs. "Go, go, go!" Casca shouted as the car lurched away from the curb. Meda was still trying to catch her breath when a deafening roar behind her was followed by a sound like hailstones hitting a metal roof._

 _Meda managed to roll onto her side as Casca rose up, peering out the back window. "Snow's roses," he breathed softly, before turning his attention back to Meda. "Miss Andromeda, are you alright?"_

 _Meda struggled to sit up, dimly aware of the limousine still speeding away from the school. "I...I think so," she stammered. Casca examined her with a critical eye and quickly ran his hands over her arms, legs, chest, and back. Meda was too stunned to resist._

 _"You seem okay," he grunted, before turning back to the driver. "Alert the Palace. Let the President know that Andromeda Snow is alive and uninjured." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Have a medical team stand by, just in case."_

 _"Got it," the driver replied._

 _Casca turned back to Meda. "It's just a precaution," he explained with a small smile. "Can't be too careful, now, can we?"_

 _"What happened?" Meda asked shakily._

 _Casca's mouth set in a grim line. "Terrorist attack," he replied, his voice trembling with rage. "Suicide car bomb, from the way that car exploded." Meda suddenly understood why it sounded like hailstones were striking the car. It wasn't hail...it was pieces of the other car after it exploded._

 _"What? Why?" Meda asked in confusion._

 _"Rebels," Casca snapped. His face clouded in anger. "My guess is that they were after you and your friends." He glanced out the back window. "Looks like Minister Blackstone's daughter made it out safely."_

 _Meda could see another car following her limousine closely. The immaculate paint was marred by fragment strikes from the exploding car. Meda could barely make out Speri, sitting up in the back seat._

She's alive _, Meda said to herself. Her next thought was,_ Someone tried to kill us. Someone tried to kill _me._

 _And, just then, Andromeda Snow doubled up and vomited all over the richly appointed back seat of the Presidential Limousine._

 **PART II**

Katniss and I had been asleep only a short while when the comm units' intrusive buzzing filled my quarters.

"Shit," I heard Katniss grumble softly as she kicked off the sheet and blanket and padded to the desk. The overhead light came on automatically, its sensors picking up Katniss's movement, and I watched as Katniss angrily punched the controls on the comm unit. "What?" She snarled. Katniss did not like being awakened.

"Emergency meeting in Command," announced the voice of Boggs. Katniss and I exchanged startled glances. After-hours calls were almost always from Haymitch.

"When?" Katniss asked.

"Fifteen minutes," Boggs replied gruffly, before apologetically adding, "sorry to wake you. This is important."

Katniss sighed softly. "We'll be there." She ended the call abruptly even as I pulled myself out of bed and groped for my leg.

"With luck it won't take too long," I lamely remarked, as Katniss and I got dressed.

Katniss snorted. "An after-hours meeting in Command? We'll be lucky to get four hours sleep tonight."

As it turned out, Katniss's prediction was overly optimistic.

* * *

"Sorry we're late," Haymitch mumbled as he and Effie entered the conference room. I had been doodling on a notepad as they came in. Idly, I looked up to acknowledge their presence, but what I saw caused me to do a double take and tap my foot against Katniss's to get her attention.

Katniss looked up at me from her own notepad, her brow furrowed slightly in a questioning look, and followed my gaze as I tilted my head toward Haymitch and Effie before turning my attention back towards our Mentor and Escort. Because what caught my attention was not the fact that Haymitch and Effie and come in to the meeting together, but rather _how_ they had come into the meeting.

Haymitch and Effie were holding hands.

The sight was so completely unexpected that the soft murmur of muted conversations taking place at the table ceased instantly...a fact that was not lost on Effie Trinket, who appeared suddenly self-conscious at being the sudden center of attention. Haymitch, of course, strolled in as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his large, rough hand firmly grasping Effie's as they made their way to their places at the table.

Haymitch finally released Effie's hand as he actually pulled her chair out and held it for her while she sat down, before taking his own seat. "I don't believe it," Katniss muttered so softly that only I could hear, "Haymitch, holding hands and acting like a gentleman...and with _Effie_?"

Haymitch finally seemed to realize that his entrance with Effie was the reason why they were the focus of everyone at the table, so of course he slowly and deliberately reached over and once again covered Effie's dainty hand in his own meaty paw, his face creasing in a smirk even as Effie turned red and dropped her gaze to the table.

Even so, I noticed that she was gripping Haymitch's hand as tightly as he was holding hers.

Plutarch Heavensbee cleared his throat noisily and tapped a control; causing the lights to dim and the large display screen come to life. "All right then," he said, somewhat awkwardly, "now that we're all here, let's begin. Please direct your attention to the screen."

The images on the display screen had no sound and the grainy, flat picture had the distinctive characteristics of other security camera graphics that I had seen before, but there was little doubt as to what was happening.

"These are digital security camera films that one of our operatives was able to upload and transmit...at great personal risk, I might add...of events that transpired just this afternoon, Capitol time. The camera is one of many located at City Center Academy, a very exclusive private school attended by the children of prominent Capitol citizens." Plutarch paused for a moment and fixed Katniss and me with his gaze. "Including Andromeda Snow."

Katniss and I glanced at each other. We had met Andromeda during her visit to District Twelve late the previous winter. President Snow's granddaughter, she was sheltered, pampered, and spoiled...and yet, I'm sure that Katniss and I managed to break through some of her preconceptions about life in the districts and give her a glimpse of what both of us, Katniss especially, had to go through while growing up.

"Watch," Plutarch said. The camera showed a pair of limousines, escorted by heavily armed Peacekeeper vehicles, pulling up to a covered walkway and stopping, when there was a sudden commotion and the two limos abruptly pulled away from the walkway, leaving the Peacekeeper vehicles behind. Muzzle flashes from the turret guns on the Peacekeeper vehicles showed that they had their guns trained away from the two limos and that they were all shooting at something that wasn't visible to the camera, when there was a brief flash of movement followed by a sudden explosion that caused the camera to jerk, steady for a second, and then dissolve into static.

"Pause," Plutarch said. "Rewind to frame eleven oh two." The image on the screen rewound, once again showing the pair of limousines stopped at the waiting area. "Zoom and enhance," Plutarch instructed. The image zoomed down to the lead car, and a grainy, slightly out of focus figure is shown approaching the opened back door. The figure paused, turning toward another figure - a large man holding the back door open - and I heard Katniss gasp softly as the familiar features, framed by a head of long hair done in a single braid, came into view.

"Katniss, do you recognize this girl?" Plutarch asked softly.

"Yes," Katniss replied, her voice trembling slightly. "That's Andromeda Snow."

"President Snow's granddaughter," Plutarch confirmed. The image skipped forward, framing a girl about to get into the second limousine. The image quality was not the greatest, but we could make out her jet-black hair and her more typical "Capitol" features - prominent piercings and some visible tattooing. "Computer facial recognition analysis has given this photo a score of ninety-two percent that this girl is Sperantia Blackstone. Her father is Minister of Security for Panem...and Sperantia is reported to be Andromeda Snow's best friend."

"Please show the remainder of what your operative managed to transmit to us, Mr. Heavensbee," President Coin instructed impatiently.

"I am getting to that, Madam President," Plutarch replied smoothly. "Gate cam now, please." The image suddenly shifted to another scene, as uniformed Peacekeepers stopped car after car entering the grounds of the school. "Here's the car sent for Andromeda Snow, and, behind it, the car for Sperantia Blackstone. Both vehicles accompanied by a pair of armed and armored Peacekeeper carriers." We watched as a few more vehicles drove through the gate, until Plutarch suddenly barked, "Pause!" The red dot of a laser pointer appeared on the screen. "The overall resolution in this picture is poor, but the facial recognition program has given a better than fifty percent chance that the two women and one man in this car were actually vetted District Six transportation workers who had spent the last few years working as contract employees inside the Capitol." He turned toward President Coin. "I apologize, we have no names as yet. But all district workers that contract to work in the Capitol are registered with the Security Ministry. I'd be willing to wager that these three are, in fact, exactly what the computer says they are."

Coin nodded grimly. "Please continue, Mr. Heavensbee."

The image on the screen flickered and was replaced by another view from a different angle. As we watched, the two limousines pulled up to the covered area while the escort of Peacekeeper carriers remained in the thoroughfare, effectively screening the limousines on their vulnerable left sides. Once again, we could see men exiting each vehicle and opening the back doors, holding the doors open as their passengers moved to climb in. A flash of movement at the top of the screen heralded the arrival of the car bearing the trio of District Six workers. The reactions from the Peacekeepers as well as the staffers in each limousine were instant, as the Peacekeepers immediately began firing at the speeding, swerving car even as each girl was virtually picked up and thrown into her respective limo. Both limousines were moving as the attacking car suddenly exploded in a bright, violent flash of light and smoke.

"That's it," Plutarch announced as the video ended. "Our report indicates that both girls are shaken, but unhurt." I could feel myself relax slightly at this news. Andromeda Snow has committed no crime; in fact, she was a target solely because of who her grandfather was. Not to mention that she had good qualities that both Katniss and I had noticed. I glanced at Katniss, who returned my look with a quick, tight smile and a single nod. "The occupants of the car were killed, of course," Plutarch continued. "There were also some deaths and injuries among the Peacekeepers as well as minor injuries among some of the students assembled there."

"Too bad," muttered Haymitch. He and Effie were sitting opposite Katniss and I, sandwiched between Silenus Festuca and a new face...Darius Potter, who is making one of his first appearances at a Command meeting. I found myself wondering if he was still required to wear his ankle tracker.

"Too bad about what, Mr. Abernathy?" Coin asked, facing Haymitch, one eyebrow arched in an inquiring expression.

Haymitch hesitated for a moment before replying. "Too bad none o' those privileged Capitol kids were killed. Give 'em a taste of what our kids have been going through for the last seventy-five years."

"No," a new voice said, softly but firmly. Beetee Latier was seated at the foot of the table due to the bulk of his wheelchair. "This rebellion is not about killing innocents. Snow's Beard, Haymitch! Hasn't there been enough of that?"

Haymitch bristled at the rebuke. "Now see here, Beetee..."

"Enough," Coin said firmly. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Both Haymitch and Beetee shut up instantly. I may not like Coin very much personally, but she had a presence that commanded obedience.

"We've got too much to do to bicker among ourselves," she continued calmly. "Mr. Latier, have you been able to establish a comm link with District Six?"

"I have, Madam President," Beetee replied. He had a small notebook computer in front of him. "You'll be speaking to one of the leaders of their Rebel faction there." He tapped a key on his notebook. "Audio only, I'm afraid. But it is a secure channel."

Coin nodded. "That's fine. Connect us, please."

Beetee murmured quietly into a wireless microphone that he was wearing as he pressed an earpiece to his left ear, and then tapped his notebook again. "Go ahead, President Coin."

"This is President Alma Coin of District Thirteen," she announced. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Peterson, operations officer for Commander Pullman," a man's voice replied over a burst of static. "I assume you're calling about our attack in the Capitol today?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Peterson," Coin replied evenly. "It was my understanding that none of the rebelling districts would take unilateral action against the Capitol. That was what we all agreed to."

I exchanged a surprised glance with Katniss, and then looked over at Haymitch, his jaw still clenched in anger...fuming, no doubt, over his rebuke by Coin. This was the first that either Katniss or I had heard that Thirteen was actively coordinating with other districts. It made me wonder if Haymitch had known, and how much he was still keeping from us.

"Seems to me we agreed to mutually support each other, too," Peterson replied dryly. "So far, all we've gotten from you is a lot of talk and zero action. And it's 'Sub-commander,' not 'mister.'"

Coin's eyes flashed angrily, but she somehow managed to keep her voice calm. "My apologies, Sub-commander. But I really think that I should be discussing this with Commander Pullman. Is she available?"

"She's in the field, directing ops in the South Side," Peterson said. "I speak with her authority."

"Very well." Coin's right hand clenched into a fist as she spoke. "The attack today was a stupid waste of resources. Not only did you squander three in-place operatives, you've probably made it more difficult for other district workers who are sympathetic to our cause to provide any useful assistance to us...not to mention the fact that, by targeting children, your actions are painting us as terrorists instead of freedom fighters."

"President Coin, let me be blunt," Peterson replied patiently. "Our people are dying in a losing cause here. We're even starting to lose support from our own people. Trust me, when word gets out about this attack, it'll put a charge into every district that's been bleeding since the Reaping Day Uprisings." He paused for a moment before continuing. "You promised us support, and all you've given us so far is a video of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark walking around in the ruins of District Twelve. I don't want Six to end up looking the same way. And I don't give a flying fuck if the Capitol thinks we're terrorists or not!"

Coin didn't respond immediately. When she did, her voice was carefully controlled. "Thank you, Sub-commander. Please ask Commander Pullman to contact me at her earliest convenience. Coin out." She looked at Beetee and made a slashing motion over her throat.

"You're off the air, Madam President," Beetee said a moment later.

Coin picked up a pencil, examined it closely, and then tossed it back onto the table. "He's right," Coin muttered, almost to herself. Louder, she said, "Boggs, is the assault battalion ready for deployment to Ten?"

Boggs nodded. "We have just enough lift capability to put the entire battalion in the air at the same time, President Coin. Give the order and they'll be airborne in an hour."

Coin nodded thoughtfully. "And how about the company to be used in the deception raid on Eight?"

"Same time frame, Madam President," Boggs replied. "Airborne an hour after the order is given."

"Peterson was right about one thing," Coin murmured, almost to herself. "There's been too much talk and not enough action." She looked up, scanning everyone at the table with her eyes. "We'll launch both tonight."

"We don't have lift to do both simultaneously," Boggs pointed out. "I suggest we launch Eight first, and Ten as soon as the hovercraft return from Eight."

"Make it happen," Coin barked. She turned toward Katniss and I. "Are you two up for a little trip tonight?"

"We're ready any time," Katniss replied firmly, speaking for us both.

Coin nodded, smiling grimly. "Good. I'll want you in your Mockingjay armor for this one." She turned back to Boggs. "Is Odair up for this?"

Boggs shook his head emphatically. "No. Aurelius is working with him but, quite frankly, he's a mess, what with Annie Cresta being held in the Capitol. I know how much you want him on camera along with Everdeen and Mellark, but at this point, he's in no shape right now to do anything but stare at the wall."

Disappointment flickered across Coin's face. "Very well. Tell Aurelius to keep me posted." She turned back to Katniss and I. "You two get ready to go. Departure from the West Hangar in one hour."

As Katniss and I stood up, Beetee said, "Can you make that two hours, Madam President? I've been working on something for Katniss that I want to give her before she leaves."

Coin nodded. "Very well, Mr. Latier. Two hours. You have your orders, people. Carry them out."

As we turned to leave, Coin stopped me and took me aside. "I'll notify your drill sergeant personally, Soldier Mellark," she said. "I'm sure he'll understand."

"Thank you, President Coin," I said in surprise.

"My pleasure," Coin replied, and then added, for everyone else's benefit, "Security at all times, people. Remember, we want Snow to think our main effort is in Eight."

Katniss and I paused at the door. "I'll see you in the West Hangar," she said softly. "I gotta run down to Beetee's lab and see what he's dreamed up for me, and then I want...I mean, I have to say goodbye to Prim and my mother."

I nod, give her a smile, and kiss her lightly. "You were wrong about one thing. We won't be getting even four hours sleep tonight."

In response, Katniss snorted, shook her head, and, as she disappeared down the corridor with Beetee, called back over her shoulder, "Don't remind me!"

 **PART III**

Katniss dug her fingers into my thigh as the hovercraft shuddered and dipped sharply. I felt my stomach rise into my throat and clenched my eyes tightly shut, willing myself not to puke. A muted groan from Katniss told me that she was fighting the same battle.

"Sorry," a voice crackled in my earpiece. It was the command pilot. "Lots of turbulence tonight. I'm afraid we're in for a rough ride."

I forced my eyes open and glanced around the interior of the hovercraft. Across from us sat our camera crew...Messalla, Castor and Pollux. Pollux caught my eye, grinned, and mimed throwing up in his helmet, earning him my extended right middle finger in response. That just caused him to grin wider and he nudged his brother, pointing at Katniss and I and making more airsick gestures.

I snorted, shook my head, and turned away. Our security team was seated on both sides of the hovercraft. I was comforted by the familiar faces...Jackson, Mitchell, Homes, and both Leeg sisters, which surprised me. Messalla had explained that both Leeg sisters were along because Plutarch had the idea that they were somehow photogenic. At least we could easily tell them apart..."our" Leeg was a sergeant, wearing three stripes, and her sister a two-stripe corporal. Boggs was along as well, as was Haymitch. Boggs would act as Coin's direct representative on the ground with the commander of the District Eight Rebel forces, a woman named Paylor. Haymitch would remain in the hovercraft, orbiting District Eight and would be in constant contact with Katniss and I on the ground in Eight as well as with Plutarch Heavensbee back in Thirteen.

There was one addition to this mission. A young, slightly built girl with dark brown hair and very fair skin, with a large strawberry birthmark over one eye. Wearing just a simple gray coverall, she looked out of place among the heavily armed soldiers. She had been introduced to us in the hangar as Bonnie, a refugee from District Eight, who was going along as both a guide and to help Boggs as needed. Right now she was seated between Messalla and Mitchell, and looked absolutely miserable.

 _She looks like I feel,_ I said to myself. Just then the hovercraft gave another lurch, followed by the sound of someone...Bonnie, as it turned out...retching loudly into a plastic-lined bag. I clutched a similar bag in my fist and leaned toward Katniss. "One more like that," I muttered, "and Bonnie will have company."

"Don't talk about it," Katniss groaned, shooting me a dirty look.

"Sorry," I murmured. "Change of subject. What did Effie say to you right before we boarded? Did she dish on this whole thing with her and Haymitch?"

Katniss rolled her eyes and snorted. "I wish. No, it was just typical Effie Trinket dramatics. 'Katniss, when people see this video, they'll either want to kiss you, kill you...or be you.'"

In spite of my own misery, I had to laugh at Katniss's spot-on imitation of Effie's affected Capitol accent. "It's the Mockingjay armor," I teased. "It looks painted on and it really shows off your...attributes...well."

"Oh, shut up," Katniss replied, her neck and ears flushing red. She turned away slightly but not before I caught the corners of her mouth twitch up in a barely suppressed grin. "It's also hot as hell and itchy." She squirmed slightly in her seat. "When we get back Cinna and I are having a talk. But this -" she hefted her new bow, courtesy of Beetee "- this almost makes up for it."

I had to admit, the bow was beautiful. Jet black and lethal looking, even resting across Katniss's legs. A quiver full of arrows was slung diagonally across her back. It complimented her Mockingjay armor perfectly. "Planning on doing a little hunting in Eight?"

"If I do, I better choose the right arrow," Katniss replied. "I have incendiaries and high explosives in addition to regular broadpoints. Besides, I doubt if we'll have time to hunt."

"Never can tell," I said. I glanced over at Bonnie, who was still looking miserable. "Maybe we should ask the expert." I leaned over and tapped Bonnie on her knee. "Bonnie. Come sit with Katniss and I."

Bonnie looked at me in amazement. "You...you want _me_...to sit...with _you_?"

"Sure," I said with a smile. I tapped the seat next to me. Bonnie hesitated for a moment before unbuckling her harness and scooting quickly over to the vacant seat.

Once she had buckled herself in again I offered her my hand, which she took shyly. "I'm Peeta. Peeta Mellark. And this -" I turned toward Katniss "- is Katniss Everdeen."

Katniss could see the vulnerabilities in this girl right off. I don't know if it was her size...Bonnie was small and skinny...or the fact that she was some years younger than Katniss, but it didn't take but a moment for Katniss to warm to the girl. "Hi," she said gently. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk in the hangar. I'm Katniss."

"Bonnie," the girl replied, just above a whisper. She stared at us, wide-eyed. It would be up to us to break the ice with this girl.

"How long have you been in Thirteen, Bonnie?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," Bonnie replied. "Twill and I left Eight during your Victory Tour, Katniss."

Close to two years ago. "How did you leave?" Katniss asked. "I mean, you just couldn't walk out."

"And who's Twill?" I added.

"My teacher," Bonnie replied. "After school we worked a four at the factory that made Peacekeeper uniforms. Right after you made your stop there, there was a bad fire at the factory. My parents both worked there, and Twill's husband, too." She paused for a moment and looked down at the floor of the hovercraft. "My parents and Twill's husband were both killed in the fire. Twill took me in so I wouldn't end up in the Community Home. Then she showed me two Peacekeeper uniforms that she and her husband had stolen." She gave us both a sad smile. "It didn't take much for her to convince me to run away with her. So one day after school, instead of going to work, we went to her apartment, put on the uniforms, and walked out of Eight."

"What's a 'four?'" I asked.

"A four hour shift," Bonnie explained.

Katniss looked at her skeptically. "Are you trying to tell us that you two put on Peacekeeper uniforms and just _walked_ all the way to Thirteen?"

"That's exactly what happened," Jackson chimed in. "I was on the team that found them. Bonnie and Twill set off infrared sensors and motion alarms when they entered the wilds in Thirteen. When we found them they were both unconscious and more dead than alive." Jackson smiled grimly. "Probably a good thing, too...with those Peacekeeper get-ups, we probably would've just shot them on sight if they were up and walking."

"When did all this happen?" Katniss asked, looking at Bonnie with a mixture of awe and amazement. I felt the same way. To _walk_ from District Eight to District Thirteen...that was hundreds of kilometers!

"A couple of months before Peeta's Games," Jackson replied.

Four months. Four months this slightly built girl and her teacher walked through the wilds and badlands of Panem, without benefit of so much as a single hour of survival training. As we talked, Bonnie revealed to us how she and Twill, remembering bits and pieces of how Tributes had managed to survive in various Hunger Games, managed to forage just enough to keep from starving. She told us how sometimes they would eat things that, while not deadly poisonous, would make them both violently sick for days. How they would sometimes travel only at night. And how they finally collapsed - too ill to move, to weak from thirst and hunger to even care anymore. And how they woke up in District Thirteen's subterranean hospital, and have been living underground ever since.

"I'm not clear on something," Katniss said when Bonnie had finished her story. "Where were you two heading? You couldn't have known about Thirteen."

"The only place we could think of at the time," Bonnie said with a wry smile. "District Twelve. And Katniss Everdeen. But we missed."

Katniss looked at Bonnie in amazement. "Me? I don't understand. Why me?"

"Because," Bonnie replied softly, "we thought you would understand us. We thought you would help."

Katniss sat back in her seat, a dumbfounded expression on her face. I leaned in close to her and said, quietly so only she could hear, "You really have no idea, the effect you have."

 **PART IV**

Commander Jersey Paylor eyed us skeptically. A slender, dark-skinned woman, she was in charge of the Rebel forces for District Eight. A captured Peacekeeper rifle was slung casually over one shoulder. And she gave every indication of being less than thrilled with our presence.

"Colonel Boggs has briefed me on your mission here," she said brusquely. "You're a diversion. A feint to make the Capitol believe that you're mounting an offensive here, while the main effort is focused on District Ten." She looked Katniss up and down. "I always thought you were bigger," she muttered half to herself, before turning to me.

"You know how to use that thing?" She asked, pointing at my slung rifle.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied in my best parade-ground voice.

"Hmmph." Paylor turned back to Boggs. "The Capitol's bombed everything of any value here. I guess they aren't too broken up about having to wear last year's fashions. They've not done much to beef up their Peacekeepers here, either. Guess they figured that the textile district is just about as expendable as the coal district."

Katniss bristled at Paylor's snide reference to the destruction of Twelve. Boggs noticed it as well. "Where's your main effort?" He asked, before Katniss could say anything.

"The west side," Paylor replied. "All of the remaining Peacekeepers have pulled back to the west side. They're pretty well entrenched there, too. But I can dig 'em out if that company you brought with you is more than just for show."

"They're combat troops," Boggs said stiffly. "Not parade ground soldiers."

"I hope you're right," Paylor replied. She seemed to notice Bonnie for the first time. "What's your function?"

"I'm a guide, ma'am," Bonnie's reply was so soft it was almost inaudible.

Paylor arched one eyebrow. "You're Eight?"

Bonnie nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I live...lived...in the Osnaburg district. My parents were killed in the big fire there a couple of years back."

Paylor nodded thoughtfully. "I remember," she said softly. "And you managed to escape and make it all the way to Thirteen?"

"She and a companion," Boggs interjected. "Bonnie volunteered for this mission. Figured she could be of some help."

"Well, it saves me from having to assign a guide to your little group," Paylor pointed out. She turned back to Bonnie. "Where's your weapon?"

"She's a non-bat," Boggs explained. "A non-combatant."

"Bullshit." Paylor pulled a small pistol from her belt and handed it to Bonnie, butt first. "There's no such thing here in Eight." Bonnie gingerly took the pistol, staring at it like she was afraid it would bite her.

"Come on," Paylor said, gesturing toward what remained of a storefront. "My headquarters," she explained as we walked over to the building. "Colonel, we'll go over Peacekeeper dispositions in the west side. Can you have your company commander join us as well?"

"Of course," Boggs replied smoothly. "Would you like Katniss and Peeta as well?"

Paylor looked us up and down. "Do either of you know small unit tactics?"

"No," Katniss admitted as I shook my head.

"Well, then, they have nothing to contribute." She turned back to Boggs. "Coming, Colonel?" She didn't wait for a response, turning and entering the dilapidating building.

Boggs sighed and beckoned Jackson over to him. "Call Captain Damon and have him report here. Hopefully, this won't take long." He grinned humorlessly at Katniss and I. "She's a real charmer, isn't she?"

Katniss snorted. "If you ask me, she's a real -"

"Leader," I said quickly, cutting Katniss off. "Just what the Rebellion needs."

"Captain Damon's on the way, sir," Jackson reported.

Boggs nodded. "Send him in when he gets here," he instructed. "And see if you can't work with our 'non-bat' on how to use that pistol that Paylor gave her. At least so she won't accidentally shoot herself...or one of us."

"Yes, sir," Jackson replied, even as Boggs disappeared into the building. His abrupt departure didn't seem to faze her. Instead, she turned and beckoned Bonnie over and gave her a crash course in firearms safety and usage while Castor and Pollux, under Messalla's direction, busied themselves with taking some background video.

The rest of the squad busied themselves with weapons checks and equipment maintenance. That left Katniss and I with not much to do until Boggs, Paylor, and Captain Damon finished their planning meeting. I sat next to Katniss on a pile of rubble as we both ate a few bites of the tasteless combat rations that we had been issued before we left Thirteen.

"I don't remember a lot about Eight from when I came through on my Victory Tour," I remarked, gazing down the rubble-strewn street at the rows of buildings in various stages of destruction. "How about you?"

"It looked like shit then, too, Peeta," Katniss pointed out. "But now there's one big difference."

I took a pull from my canteen before replying. "What's that?" I asked as I re-capped the canteen.

"Then," Katniss said slowly, "It didn't smell like death."

I could feel my stomach lurch as Katniss pointed out the pervasive, cloying stench that hung in the air, and I found myself wishing that she hadn't said anything at all.

* * *

We moved cautiously through the district, our destination the last known concentration of Peacekeepers in the west side of District Eight. Here and there we saw bodies bloating in the late summer sun...Peacekeepers, Rebels, and "non-bats" like Bonnie, who, in spite of the pistol that had been shoved awkwardly in her belt, was still obviously uncomfortable with carrying a weapon.

"Are you familiar with the west side, Bonnie?" Katniss asked.

Bonnie nodded. "It's near my old neighborhood. Tenements, mostly. No factories or warehouses. Oh, and the Community Home is out there, too."

 _And Peacekeepers,_ I said to myself. _Don't forget about the Peacekeepers._

Captain Damon's company was deployed in a rough skirmish line, stretching a few blocks to either side of us. It was slow going. Every building that was still standing had to be cleared. Every likely looking rubble pile needed to be checked. So far, the only living bodies had been frightened District Eight residents. Paylor assured us that would change.

"Peacekeepers having been clinging to the last stronghold that they have here," Paylor explained. "We've got 'em bottled up but it's a stalemate. We aren't strong enough to go in and root them out, and they aren't strong enough for an actual breakout." She glanced at Captain Damon. "Here's hoping your troops can tip the odds in our favor."

Damon grunted. He was a tall, lean man, with an unruly shock of dark brown hair and the bushiest mustache I've ever seen. "That's why we're here, ma'am."

 _No, we're actually here to make the Capitol think that this is our main focus._ "I'm surprised that Snow just doesn't order a bombing like he did in Twelve," I said. "After all, he didn't seem to care about tossing away Peacekeeper lives there."

Jackson sidled up to walk with Katniss and I. "Maybe things are different now," she pointed out. "Maybe he can't afford to waste his troops."

Katniss turned toward Jackson and was about to say something when Damon stopped dead in his tracks. "Movement up ahead," he hissed. "Cover!"

I grabbed Katniss's arm and guided her to the rear of a burned out delivery truck, silently congratulating myself on my immediate...and correct...response to Damon's command. Our security squad fanned out on either side of the truck while Jackson, along with Boggs, Paylor, and Damon, crouched close by. Damon was speaking urgently into a commicuff.

"Find cover and stay there," he ordered before turning to us. "Scouts have spotted Peacekeepers moving toward our position, accompanied by civilians." He frowned. "They aren't making any effort at cover or concealment. My scouts report that they're walking in the open, about four blocks west of here. They should be here in ten minutes."

More whispered commands as I strain to see something, _anything_ , up ahead...only to find my view blocked by the clutter of war in the streets. "What do you think they're doing?" Katniss asked quietly.

I watched a team of District Thirteen soldiers take up positions to our immediate left. "I don't know," I murmured. "They didn't cover this in training."

"Movement up ahead," Damon announced tersely a few minutes later. Cautiously I poked my head around the rear of the truck, now clearly able to see the unmistakable white uniforms and helmets of the approaching Peacekeepers. Surprisingly, their visors were pushed up, exposing their faces. And that wasn't all.

"Shit," Boggs muttered. "They _wouldn't_."

"They are," Paylor replied grimly, her lips compressed in a thin, angry line.

Katniss and I both gasped in shock when we saw why the Peacekeepers were approaching so carelessly. In front of the phalanx of white uniforms was another, ragged line, all clothed identically in shapeless gray tunics, trousers, and dresses. The people in this line were short...much shorter than the advancing Peacekeepers...and, as we watched, we could see that each Peacekeeper held another gray-clad figure firmly by the collar or the hair, prodding them along with well-placed jabs of pistol or rifle muzzles.

"Those are Community Home kids," Bonnie gasped in dismay.

"Hold fire!" Damon barked into his commicuff. He turned back toward us. "These bastards are using the kids as a human shield."

"That they are," Paylor said grimly.

Haymitch's voice crackled in my ear. "Plutarch and Coin are assessing the situation. Stand by."

"Stand by for what?" Katniss snapped. "We have to _do_ something!"

"We are doing something, Katniss," Boggs pointed out. "We're not doing anything that'll get those kids killed."

"I have an idea," I said softly, so only Katniss could hear me.

"What?" She turned toward me, waiting for my flash of inspiration.

 _It won't work_ , I thought. Nevertheless, I said, "They don't know that you and I are here. Maybe that's what we need to shake 'em up a little bit."

Without waiting for a response, I carefully leaned my rifle against the rear wheel of the truck, ignoring Haymitch's sudden demands for me to stand fast, took a deep breath, stood up, and very slowly walked out in the open.

"Peeta! Get back here!" Boggs hissed. I ignored him, walking into the middle of the street, my arms outstretched, my empty palms turned toward the advancing line of Peacekeepers and Community Home kids. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Katniss doing the same thing, her shiny new bow leaning next to my rifle. She angrily shook off Jackson's hand when Jackson tried to stop her and walked out, not hesitating, until she stood at my side.

Our appearance had the desired effect. The line of Peacekeepers and their human shield stopped immediately. "Do you know who we are?" I called out, my heart pounding in my chest, and I found myself hoping that the body armor worked as well as I was told it would.

"We do," one of the Peacekeepers said, her voice tinged with surprise. "You're the traitors Everdeen and Mellark. President Snow has a good price on your heads. One million Sesterces each."

"President Snow," Katniss said with disdain. "Why are you doing this in his name? And even if you manage to get out of here, what then? Another district, another battle? Do you really think that you're going to survive this war?"

"Do you?" The Peacekeeper replied shrilly.

"I don't know," I replied. "I hope so. I want to see a new Panem. I want to see a better Panem." I slowly lowered my hands, Katniss following suit and lowering hers at the same time. "A Panem without the Games. A Panem without President Snow. A Panem where we can live as free people."

"Enough!" The Peacekeeper tightened her grip on the collar of the child that she held in front of her. I could see that it was a little girl, maybe nine or ten years of age. "Here's what we want. Let us pass, give us free passage out of the city, and don't interfere with our pick-up. You do this and maybe we let these brats live."

"No deals," Boggs hissed.

"Those are _my_ people, Colonel!" Paylor barked. "You are in no position to -"

"We can't let anything happen to these kids, Peeta," Katniss muttered. Louder, she said, "You let half of the kids go now and the rest when you board your hovercraft."

"I said no deals!" Boggs snapped, standing up. "You! Peacekeepers! Let those children go and surrender to us, peacefully. I promise that you will not be harmed if you do this now."

"No more talk!" The female Peacekeeper practically screamed. "We're not bluffing! You want to see if I'm serious?" She suddenly pressed the muzzle of a pistol against the little girl's head. "You let us pass, _now_ , or I decorate the street with this brat's brains!"

"Peeta -" Katniss said urgently.

"Listen," I called out. "A swap. Me for her. Deal?"

"No!" Jackson snapped. "No swap!" A stun gun appeared in her hand. "Soldier, you make one move towards the Peacekeepers and I'll drop you!"

"We pass _now_!" The Peacekeeper was even more agitated. " _NOW!"_

And, before any of us could react, there was the single, sharp crack of a pistol firing.

The little girl's head exploded as she dropped lifelessly to the ruined street.

And the whole world erupted all around me.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

 **PART I**

Bright lights.

No, not just bright. _Blinding._ And strange noises, too. Mechanical sounds, electronic sounds, and, mixed in with all that, the murmur of voices both strange and familiar. I forced my eyes open only to be dazzled by the blinding light hovering over my face, and I immediately squeezed them shut again. I heard another sound and I felt the sensation of something constricting my upper arm, and I tried to pull my arm away, only to find that I can't move it, and, for the first time, I was frightened.

I must have let out a sound, because a moment later I felt the touch of a hand and I could clearly hear a voice say, "He's awake, doctor."

Doctor? Suddenly, it all made sense. I must be in a hospital of some sort. But _where_?

"Ahh," a familiar voice murmured. "The young Victor awakens."

I turned my head toward the voice and opened my eyes again, this time to see the gaunt, unsmiling face of Dr. Josephus Picardo, Capitol expatriate and former Mine Company Doctor for District Twelve. "Is it bad?" I managed to croak.

Picardo's lips twitched up in what could be construed as a smile, although "smirk" would probably have been just as accurate. "Is what bad?" He replied, as he reached up and flicked a switch. Instantly the blinding light over my head disappeared. "Young Victor, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you...physically, anyway. Your presence here is merely a precaution at the insistence of President Coin, among others. However, I cannot attest to your seeming, and rather disappointing, lack of common sense."

What was he talking about, "nothing wrong with me?" I distinctly recalled the explosions and the noise that immediately followed the Peacekeeper shooting that little girl in the head. How could there be nothing wrong with me after all that? "What about Katniss?" I heard myself asking.

"Look for yourself," Picardo said, indicating the bed to my immediate left. With effort, I turned my head to see Katniss, still wearing her Mockingjay armor, laying on a bed, unconscious, an IV tube snaking into one arm, an automatic blood pressure cuff wrapped around the other.

"Why isn't she awake?" I asked, noticing for the first time that I, too, had an IV dripping into my own arm.

"You were both sedated," Picardo replied. "She'll be coming around soon." He turned to a nearby technician. "Find the Everdeens and tell them that Peeta Mellark is now awake and that Katniss should awaken soon." He paused and added, "Discontinue the IV drips for Mellark when you return, and for Everdeen once she's awake. Once they are both able to stand on their own, they can both be discharged."

"Yes, doctor," the technician said, before turning and leaving the room.

"What happened?" I asked, confused. "The explosions...why aren't Katniss and I hurt?"

"I'll leave that for a military mind to explain," Picardo replied. "Speaking of which, I was given very specific instructions to notify certain people once you have awakened. Please excuse me."

I watched Picardo stride away, and I couldn't help but notice that he was still wearing his ankle-tracker.

* * *

"It's simple," Boggs said. "We were bombed by our own hovercraft."

"Why aren't we dead, then?" Katniss asked thickly. She was still shaking off the effects of the sedative, although she had been awake for several minutes.

"Something new," Boggs explained. "Flash-bang bombs."

As Boggs spoke, it became clear that even he hadn't been aware of these new weapons before they had been used in District Eight. In essence, they were giant versions of the flash-bang grenades that District Thirteen soldiers were sometimes issued - devices that Boggs and Jackson called "less than lethal" munitions. They produced a blinding flash of light and a loud explosion...thus the term "flash-bang" - and were designed to confuse and incapacitate an enemy without killing.

"They are ideal for hostage situations," Jackson said. "They were loaded on the stealth hovercraft orbiting Eight. Only the flight crew knew about them. They could monitor our communications with Abernathy and decided that the 'human shield' situation was tailor-made for the bombs...and a good thing, too. Loss of life, both Peacekeeper and civilian, was minimal."

I glanced over at Katniss, and, from her expression, I could see that she was thinking what I was thinking - that the bombs came just a little too late to save the girl that the one Peacekeeper had been holding her gun on. "How minimal?" I heard myself asking.

Jackson glanced at Boggs, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "One civilian, seven Peacekeepers, no Rebels."

"A few Peacekeepers managed to get away," Boggs added. "Between the District Eight Rebels and Damon's company, they should be mopped up in a matter of days, at best." He smiled for the first time. "Your presence in Eight was instrumental in flushing out the Peacekeeper holdouts. The next report we get from Paylor should confirm that District Eight is completely and firmly in the hands of the Rebels."

That would be significant. That would mean that Eight would be the first district to completely throw off the shackles of the Capitol and stand free. But, from what I saw of District Eight, that victory had come at a tremendous cost, with their infrastructure in ruins and their industry battered almost beyond recognition.

"This victory will be a boost to the entire Rebellion," Boggs continued. "Once the word gets out, it will give hope to every other embattled district."

Before anyone could say anything else about the great and inevitable District Eight victory, a pair of technicians entered the room. One headed for me while the other went to Katniss. They were both carrying trays and paraphernalia that I recognized as blood-draw kits.

"Excuse us for a moment," the one by Katniss's bed said. "We just need to collect a quick blood sample from you both. It won't take very long."

The technicians went about their tasks with efficiency born from long practice, and they soon left, full vials of our blood rattling in their respective trays. Once they were gone, Mrs. Everdeen, who had exchanged a confused look with Prim during the blood draw, spoke for the first time.

"That was strange," she said. "Both of those techs were from the Genetics lab, not the regular Clinical lab here in the hospital."

Genetics. I remembered that Dalton, the refugee from District Ten, had been a geneticist who had been involved with livestock breeding, both in Ten and here - and had been in conference with doctors here in the hospital. I also remembered that the Pox...the epidemic that had swept through Thirteen some years earlier...had rendered almost all of the surviving District Thirteen males sterile. I had an uncomfortable suspicion that, somehow, the blood sample that we had just given had something to do with all that.

It appeared that Katniss didn't share my suspicions. She merely shrugged at her mother's statement. Obviously she didn't care what lab the technicians had come from. She did, however, have a question for Boggs.

"Why aren't you in here with us, Boggs?"

"You mean, why wasn't I knocked on my ass by those flash-bang bombs?" Boggs asked with a half-smile.

Katniss nodded. "Well, you were standing up like Peeta and I," she pointed out.

"I wasn't completely exposed like you two were," Boggs explained. "Plus, I'm not you. Once we determined that you two were merely stunned, but otherwise uninjured, President Coin ordered that you both be kept sedated until your return here."

Coin, no doubt, had been watching a live feed of the events as they occurred in Eight and I have no doubt that she probably wasn't too happy about my decision, along with Katniss, to stand up and expose ourselves. Her order, most likely, was less to do with our continued well-being and more to do with "keep those two out of further trouble."

"That being said," Boggs continued, the hint of smile fading from his face, "I just want to know what the _fuck_ -" he paused for a moment and turned to Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, who were standing off to one side "- pardon the language, ma'am...and Primrose -" and then turned back to Katniss and I "- you two were thinking back there?"

"No apologies necessary," Mrs. Everdeen said firmly. "I was pretty much thinking the same thing."

Boggs' anger surprised both Katniss and I. "Well...uhh...I just wanted to...that is, I thought -" I managed to stammer before Boggs cut me off.

"Thought?" Boggs shook his head. "Peeta, you _didn't_ think. I would have thought that your training would have instilled a little more self-discipline in you." He looked over at Katniss. "You, I'm not surprised at." He shook his head again and muttered, "Victors."

"What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?" Katniss snapped.

"Just that you're all strong-willed, undisciplined, and you have a tendency to do whatever the hell you want," Boggs replied matter-of-factly. "Even you, Peeta...training or no training."

Haymitch chose that moment to show up. He nodded a quick greeting to Mrs. Everdeen and Prim before turning to Boggs and Jackson. "Are you done with these two?"

Boggs looked inquiringly at the technician, who turned to Katniss. "Can you stand?"

Katniss nodded, swung her legs out to the side of the bed, and, with her mother on one side and Prim on the other, managed to somewhat shakily get to her feet. She looked at the technician and arched one eyebrow. "Satisfied?"

The technician turned to Boggs. "Doctor Picardo said that they could be discharged once they could stand. They're both okay to leave."

"Thank you," Boggs said before turning back to Katniss and I. "Take it easy the rest of the day," he said. "Debriefing in command tomorrow morning at eight. Get some rest, get cleaned up...I'll authorize your showers activated so you don't have to wait until tonight...and I'll see you both tomorrow."

Boggs and Jackson left after murmuring quick goodbyes. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim did the same with Katniss, Haymitch and I, stating a need to return to their duties, leaving us with just Haymitch. "Come on, you two," he said amicably, draping one arm around my shoulders, and the other around Katniss's shoulders. As we walked out of the room, he added, "I'm sure you want to get out of those uniforms and get cleaned up."

As we stepped into the corridor I opened my mouth to say something, but I never got the chance. Haymitch's hand suddenly tightened on my shoulder, and he spun me around effortlessly, slamming me into the corridor wall, along with Katniss. His face was contorted in anger, his eyes blazing as he pinned us against the wall with surprising strength.

"I'll only say this once," he snarled. "I ain't as nice as Boggs, and I ain't had a drink since comin' here, so I'm madder'n shit and in a piss-poor mood. Either one o' you _ever_ pull some stupid fuckin' stunt again like you pulled today, and I swear I'll hit you with one o' those fancy stun guns they carry here...and trust me, those bastards hurt like a sonofabitch! You got that?"

"Yeah," Katniss and I both croak in unison. I glance quickly at Katniss, who's staring at Haymitch in wide-eyed surprise. I have no doubt that he wasn't making an idle threat about the stun gun...and I don't intend on finding out.

Haymitch relaxed his grip on us, pulling us back into the friendly, easy-going embrace he had been using earlier, and began to guide us down the corridor once more. "Good!" he said cheerfully. "I thought you'd see it my way."

The rest of the trip to Level Twenty was made without incident. Haymitch left us there, claiming a prior engagement - I still wanted to ask him about this sudden relationship that seems to have blossomed between him and Effie Trinket, but now just doesn't seem to be the right time - and left Katniss and I standing near the elevator door as he quickly slammed the cage shut before leaving.

Katniss turned to me as the elevator whined to life as the car began its descent to the lower levels. "Hell of a day, huh?" she asked ruefully. In response, I hold my arms out to her and she willingly stepped into them. I held her like that for maybe a minute; oblivious to the curious looks we got from others going about their business, before pulling away.

"I'm going to go back up and get cleaned up," she explained, as she punched the elevator call button. "Will you be up for dinner later?"

I smile and kiss her gently. "Six sound okay?" I asked.

Katniss nodded as the elevator door slid open behind her. "See you then," she said softly. As the cage clanged shut, she added, "Peeta? Looks like we pissed some people off today, huh?"

I shrugged. "I'd do it again."

The last words I heard Katniss say as the elevator began to ascend were, "So would I."

 **PART II**

The next day at briefing, Coin, uncharacteristically, was all smiles as she greeted us when we walked into the conference room.

"Wonderful news out of Eight," she said as we took our seats. "Commander Paylor reports that the last Peacekeeper holdouts have been neutralized, days ahead of her original projections. District Eight is now firmly in the hands of the Rebellion."

There were a few murmurs and nods of approval from others at the table. Others sat in stony silence, their faces set into masks of impassivity. I found myself torn between the two camps. On the one hand, Boggs had been right...District Eight would serve as an example to the rest of the Rebellion. On the other hand, the district was in ruins. If what happened in Eight was what we could expect, then the Rebellion may well find itself winning the war and have nothing to show for it but a bunch of ruined districts, unable to care for even the most basic needs of their citizens.

Leave it to Katniss to be the voice of dissent. "'Neutralized?'" She asked. "What exactly does that mean?"

Coin glanced in surprise at Katniss. Irritably, she replied, "The Peacekeeper threat in Eight was handled."

"How?" Katniss pressed on.

"They were isolated, surrounded, and given an ultimatum," Coin explained patiently. "The ultimatum was simple...surrender or die. The few that attempted to give themselves up to our forces were shot in the back by their fellow Peacekeepers. Once surrounded with no chance to escape, we gave them one hour to surrender. At the end of that hour Damon's company, along with the District Eight Rebels, took appropriate action."

"What sort of 'appropriate action?'" Katniss asked.

"The city block that they were hidin' in was shelled into rubble," Silenus Festuca replied. "They'll be diggin' out bodies for weeks."

"How final," Katniss said sarcastically, and then turned to Plutarch. "I hope you managed to record all that. I'm sure it will make a wonderful propo."

Plutarch looked embarrassed. Coin looked furious. _Not again, Katniss,_ I said to myself. _You don't need ending up on Coin's shit list_ again. It was pretty obvious that Katniss had, single-handedly, managed to destroy Coin's upbeat mood, and Coin's next remarks pretty much confirmed that.

"While we are on the subject of propos," Coin said, her voice carefully controlled, "I would like to bring up the subject of the actions of you and Mr. Mellark in District Eight." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "It seems that there's no way for me to word this delicately, so I won't even try. What the _fuck_ were you two thinking?"

The room suddenly fell dead silent. Since coming to Thirteen, I had never heard Coin utter any sort of profanity or obscenity, not even a relatively mild "hell" or "damn." And it was obvious that Coin was not finished with either one of us, yet.

"Miss Everdeen. You are the Mockingjay. You are the living, breathing face of the Rebellion," Coin continued, obviously fighting for control. "It's no coincidence that those Peacekeepers came out of hiding and pulled that human shield stunt while you were there to witness it. They obviously had received Intel that you were both there. You and Mr. Mellark are on the front lines of the information war that we are waging right along side the physical, 'fighting' war. Tomorrow, Beetee Latier will attempt to break into Capitol communications once again to broadcast our District Eight propo. You two will give every other fighting district a morale boost. The Rebellion needs living symbols, _not_ martyrs. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Katniss and I said, quietly, in unison.

"I've indulged you both and given you a great deal of latitude," Coin continued. "I certainly trust that I will not have to remind you again of who is in charge here in Thirteen."

Katniss and I remained silent. "Good." Coin turned to Plutarch. "Mr. Heavensbee?"

Plutarch stood up, visibly relieved that Coin's anger seemed to have abated for now. "Messalla and I have put together a rough propo of yesterday's events, and this morning we showed it to a test audience here in Thirteen." He allowed himself a small smile. "The results were positive."

"Who was in your test audience?" Boggs asked.

"Soldiers from here in Thirteen, refugees from Twelve, our own Rebel Peacekeepers, and the Capitol expats," Plutarch explained. "I have to say that most everyone was universally appalled by the murder of the little Community Home girl at the hands of the renegade Peacekeeper."

"I would like to say something about that," Darius said, standing up. "I viewed it, along with Sergeant Festuca. Both of us were sickened by what we saw, but it's pretty typical of how Peacekeepers view district residents. You can expect incidents like this to occur whenever you manage to back a group of Peacekeepers into a corner."

"On that note," Plutarch said, "how do you see Peacekeepers in other districts, or even the Capitol, reacting to this propo?"

"Mixed," Darius replied. "Those that have any humanity left in them will be troubled by what they see. Those that are firmly under the Capitol's influence will see what this group of Peacekeepers did as a necessity." He paused for a moment, looking down at the table. "The trick is to find the human ones, and pull them over to our side."

Plutarch nodded solemnly. "Point taken." He turned toward Effie. "Effie? You saw it. Reactions from the Capitol expats?"

Effie looked subdued. "Disbelief," she said quietly. She glanced around the table nervously. "Some thought that it was deliberately staged to make all Peacekeepers look bad."

"How about you, Effie?" Plutarch asked gently. "What do _you_ think?"

Effie looked like it was all she could do to not start crying. "It's different in the Capitol than in the districts. I've seen enough in District Twelve to know how horribly those poor people were treated by the Peacekeepers there." Somehow she managed to give Darius a small smile. "Of course, I don't mean you, Darius...or the others that are here in Thirteen now. But Peacekeepers like Thread, and Cray, and Breccia...they actually _enjoyed_ mistreating district residents. And that's what confuses the other expats. They've never seen the brutal side of Peacekeepers. And they think that the propo is just clumsy propaganda."

As Effie spoke, Coin looked more and more troubled. "That may be a problem, if Capitolites view this as false propaganda. Mr. Heavensbee, perhaps we should consider editing that part out."

Plutarch shook his head emphatically. "No, Madam President. What Effie said makes sense. Capitol citizens will view anything we broadcast with suspicion. We need to show the other ten districts still in this fight what they can expect from the Peacekeepers that they face. _They_ , Madam President, are our audience."

Coin nodded thoughtfully. "Very well," she finally said. She turned to Henry Elliott. "Next item, please."

"Update on Ten, President Coin," Henry murmured, as the view screen flickered to life and a map of District Ten appeared.

Coin nodded and turned to Boggs. "Colonel?"

Boggs rose to his feet. "Operations are on schedule in Ten. The Capitol should be feeling the effects of the cessation of food shipments."

"They have," Plutarch confirmed. "My operatives have reported shortages of meats, poultry, and seafood as well." That last was a reference to District Four, where fighting was still raging. "No rationing yet, but appeals have been made to the populace to voluntarily reduce their consumption of animal proteins."

Coin nodded again, this time in satisfaction. "Excellent." She turned to Silenus Festuca, who was seated next to Effie and Haymitch. "Major, superb work."

It didn't escape me...or anyone else at the table...that Coin had referred to Festuca as "Major." I caught Haymitch's eye and his only response was a crooked grin. I couldn't help but wonder how this was sitting with the other officers on Coin's staff, to have an outsider, and an ex- _Peacekeeper,_ no less, receive such a promotion.

Not surprisingly, Festuca was dismissive of Coin's compliment. "Like I said before, you ain't gotta take the whole district...just the rail hubs. The rest'll take care of itself."

"Which the Peacekeepers are defending viciously," Boggs added. "And our forces are hampered by having to exercise care in not damaging the facilities too badly."

"I understand that same care is slowing our operation down," Coin interjected, "but, at the same time, we need those hubs as operational as possible, so we can move goods to the districts that need them, once they are firmly under our control."

"Just a minute," Haymitch drawled. "Boggs, you said that the shipments outta Ten have ceased, and Plutarch confirms shortages in the Capitol. But, you also said that the Peacekeepers are defending the rail hubs and that they're still under Peacekeeper control. How can you stop shipments if you are still fightin' for control of the hubs?"

"The Capitol stopped the shipments," Boggs explained patiently. "Not us. They don't want to lose trains." He smiled grimly. "Of course, the train crews from Six are only too happy to oblige."

"Colonel, you've indicated that one rail hub is more vulnerable than the others," Coin said. "Perhaps you'd like to share with everyone here what we were discussing earlier."

Boggs nodded. "Rail Hub One-Seventeen." He touched a control and the map zoomed in to an area in the northeast corner of District Ten. "It's heavily defended, as all of them are, but we decided to concentrate our efforts here, for one reason. Anyone care to guess as to why?"

Katniss was the only one to reply. "It's the closest to District Eight."

Boggs grinned again. "Exactly. When Commander Paylor informed us earlier that the last of the Peacekeeper resistance had crumbled, she also made an immediate request for aide...specifically food, medical care, and defense against Capitol bombing attacks. In return, she's offered her support of both current and future operations. When we take One-Seventeen, we prioritize livestock shipments to Eight. We've already dispatched a mobile anti-aircraft missile battery, and the hospital is putting together a medical team that should be ready in a day or two. Paylor can have one of her militia battalions on the ground in Ten in one weeks' time. That's when we launch our all-out effort to take One-Seventeen. With luck, we'll have livestock shipments heading east within two weeks."

"And," Coin added, "this will be the first true multi-district operation, and it will further demonstrate our commitment to inter-district cooperation." She glanced at Katniss and me. "You two will need to be ready to deploy to Ten in one weeks' time."

"We'll be ready," I replied firmly. Even though this operation sounded a little more "active" than District Eight, I was eager to be able to have everyone focus on a successful propo...one where Katniss and I _don_ ' _t_ risk our lives recklessly.

Coin nodded. "Good." She stood up. "We have work to do, people. Is there anything else before we adjourn?"

"Yes," Katniss replied. "One thing."

Coin turned to Katniss. "Miss Everdeen?"

Katniss stood up slowly and faced President Coin. "Why did people from your Genetics Lab take blood samples from Peeta and I?"

* * *

I could tell that the question caught Coin off guard. "I...I'm sure it was just routine," she stammered. _She's lying,_ I thought.

"That's not what I was told," Katniss continued. Even though her voice was even, I could tell that she was angry. _This has to have something to do with what I had heard,_ I thought. _The stories about the Pox causing sterility in many of the men of District Thirteen._

"And what were you told, Miss Everdeen?" Coin asked coldly.

"I was told that you need 'breeders' to re-populate Thirteen," Katniss replied, just as coldly.

I had never seen Coin speechless before today. Now, she simply stared at Katniss, the color draining from her already colorless face. That in itself told me everything that I needed to know. There _was_ a program to use the refugees to repopulate District Thirteen.

Coin finally found her voice. "Miss Everdeen," she said evenly, "I will discuss this matter with you, and only you – "she gave me a pointed look as she said this "- after we adjourn here."

"But – "

"This matter is _not_ subject to open debate," Coin continued, effectively cutting Katniss off. "My office, Miss Everdeen. Five minutes."

And, with that, Coin gathered up her PADD, gave a curt gesture to Henry, and the two left. Boggs, who was still standing, quickly regained control of the meeting. "We're done here," he said curtly. "Katniss, you and Peeta see me in an hour. We'll go over your training schedule for the next week."

"If Coin's done with her by then," Haymitch drawled, turning to face Katniss. "I have a sneakin' suspicion that she's about to take a big wet bite outta your ass, Sweetheart."

"Haymitch!" Effie exclaimed. " _Must_ you be so crude?"

Haymitch turned and leered at Effie. "'Crude' is my middle name, Princess."

I turned to Katniss. "I'll see you later," I murmured. She glanced at me, her eyes clouded with worry. I didn't blame her. I would be worried too…in fact, I was…and I'm afraid that Katniss may have succeeded in pushing the wrong buttons with Coin.

"Yeah," Katniss muttered. He laid her hand on my arm. "Hey. I survived the Games. I'll be okay."

As I watched her leave, I wasn't so sure.

 **PART III**

 _At the sound of knocking on her office door, Coin looked up from the report that she was reading, and said one word._

" _Come."_

 _The door slid open, and Katniss Everdeen stepped into the office. Like its owner, it was spare and functional, with no decoration adorning the walls. In fact, the only decoration that Katniss could see was a single framed photograph, arranged precisely on one corner of the desk._

 _Katniss swallowed heavily and vowed to herself to not let Coin see how nervous she really was. "You asked to see me privately, President Coin," she said respectfully._

 _Coin regarded the younger woman for a moment before replying. "Miss Everdeen," she said, rising and waving her hand at a single chair in front of her desk. "Please, sit."_

 _Katniss walked slowly to the chair and sat down, her back straight, hands on her knees. Peeta referred to this position as "sitting at attention," something that he had learned during his military training. Katniss had privately thought it was stupid – until now._

 _Coin slid back into her chair and steepled her fingers. "I'll get to the point. You have a major problem with authority."_

 _Katniss said nothing. "I've seen it in how you deal with me. I've seen it in how you deal with your Mentor. I've seen it in how you deal with Colonel Boggs, and Lieutenant Jackson, and other officers. And, if I could speak with him, I'm sure President Snow would agree."_

 _Still, Katniss was silent. "I brought you in here today to clear the air between us. Make no mistake, Miss Everdeen…_ I am in charge here. _Not Colonel Boggs. Not Haymitch Abernathy. Not Plutarch Heavensbee._ Me. _And you seem to derive some sort of perverse pleasure in subverting my authority at every opportunity. This issue with the blood tests is simply the latest of many."_

 _Katniss finally spoke. "So it's true?"_

 _Coin leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands and placing them on her desk. "Yes. It's true."_

 _In spite of her nervousness, Katniss could feel her anger rise again. "We're not cattle! We're not 'breeders!' We're people!"_

" _And we're dying," Coin replied calmly. "Without the help of refugees such as yourself, in a generation…perhaps two…District Thirteen will cease to exist. Only one man in twenty is still capable of reproducing. The timing of your blood test was unfortunate. Normally, we would have scheduled an appointment for you and Mr. Mellark, but your circumstances are somewhat fluid. We had to act when the opportunity presented itself."_

" _So what now?" Katniss asked bitterly. "You take our blood and grow some sort of mutt?"_

 _At this, Coin's face clouded just a bit, and an edge creeped into her voice. "Miss Everdeen, we are_ not _the Capitol. We are not in the business of growing either mutts or clones. Your blood sample will be used to match you with the most genetically compatible donor. It's really quite sim – "_

" _What?" Katniss bolted up from her chair. "That's even worse! You actually plan on 'matching' me with some random 'compatible donor?' Fuck that! I won't do it! I – "_

" _SIT DOWN!" Coin barked. "And, for once in your life, shut your mouth!"_

 _In shock, Katniss did just that. She sat down and closed her mouth. "I thought that I already established that I am in charge here," Coin continued, her voice once again even and controlled. "Miss Everdeen, you are laboring under the misconception that I need you more than you need me. Let me set you straight. As the Mockingjay, you and Mr. Mellark have been invaluable in waging the information war. I have no doubt that the latest propo, when aired, will be incredibly effective."_

" _That being said," Coin continued, "anything that you contribute from now on would be simply building on your earlier appearances. Oh, they would have value. But we've already taken Eight. Ten will fall quickly, with Eight's help. And after that, Eleven, then Nine, then Four, and, once the Capitol starves for a bit, they too, will surrender. And all this will happen whether or not you are the Mockingjay."_

" _Then why even bother?" Katniss asked. "Why not just toss Peeta and I into a fighting unit?"_

" _Because I know what you've been through," Coin replied, her voice surprisingly gentle. "And your continuing as the Mockingjay will shorten this war. Now, before you interrupted me, I was about to explain that repopulation efforts here in Thirteen will be done scientifically. Once genetic matches are made, sperm from genetically compatible male donors will be introduced to eggs from female donors. Fertilization will be accomplished in vitro, with no actual sex act performed. Once viable, the eggs will be implanted in a host female, who will carry the fetus to term." Coin actually smiled. "So you see, Katniss, you don't even need to go through pregnancy. Now would be a bad time, anyway…and I know that your birth control injections that the Capitol gave you lasts for a year."_

 _Katniss stared in shock at Coin. "And what if I refuse to allow my eggs to be donated?"_

" _We've already harvested your eggs," Coin replied. "So you see, the point is moot."_

* * *

"Can you _believe_ that bitch?"

Katniss was pacing back and forth in my cramped quarters, still agitated hours after her meeting with Coin. "They took my eggs while I was sedated!"

That made me wonder if they "harvested" anything from me during that time. I hope they didn't. The idea of some Genetics Technician "milking" me was embarrassing…even more so than the fact that I will probably be told to do it myself.

"She even called me 'Katniss.'" Katniss actually shuddered at the memory. "At least she didn't ask me how I found out about the genetic testing."

"I'm assuming it was Prim or your mother…or both," I said.

Katniss nodded. "Snow only knows what kind of trouble they would be in if Coin found out."

"Well, she won't," I replied. I decided to change the subject. "So you saw the picture on Coin's desk?"

Katniss nodded. "Just a glimpse. It was probably taken years ago. Coin's hair was a reddish color then. Her, a man, and a girl about Prim's age."

"She's lost people, too," I murmur. I had heard that Coin's husband and daughter had died during the epidemic that the Thirteens called "the Pox." "Katniss, I'm not defending her, but she's known loss, same as you and me. We don't have to like her, but maybe we can try to understand her a little."

"I don't want to understand her," Katniss muttered. "I just want all this to be over." She stopped pacing and stood before me, shoulders slumped, so I did the only thing I could do. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close.

Katniss nestled against my chest. "I want it to be over, too," I whispered. "So let's do our part to end this bullshit. We leave for Ten in a week, and I'm sure Drill Sergeant Duffy will keep us both busy until then."

"Is he really as bad as you say he is?" Katniss asked. We had discovered today that Duffy would be running us through a special training program…including Bonnie, the girl from District Eight, who would continue to work as a liaison with the District Eight Militia; and Finnick Odair, who Dr. Aurelius had "provisionally" cleared to begin training and, if successful, to participate in the District Ten propo.

I chuckled. "You'll find out." I tilted her head up and kissed her softly. "No more talk now."

Katniss was only too happy to oblige.

 **PART IV**

 _Andromeda Snow was in her suite, working on homework, when her phone buzzed. She sighed, leaned back in her chair, and picked up the phone, noting with pleasure that the caller was her best friend, Sperantia Blackstone._

" _Hey, Speri," she said cheerfully as the small screen on the phone came to life, revealing her friend. Ever since the terrorist attack at school, Speri, like Andromeda, had been attending school at home, through carefully vetted tutors, rather than risk another attack, even though security had been greatly increased at City Center Academy._

" _Are you watching?" Speri asked bluntly. Andromeda could see that she looked upset._

" _Watching what?" Andromeda asked. "Speri, you know that I'm not supposed to have the Holo on until I'm done with my homework."_

" _Shit," Speri muttered. "Meda, you're such a goody-goody. Now turn your Holo on!"_

" _Okay, okay," Andromeda replied. As she fumbled with the remote control, she asked, "What's gotten you so upset?"_

" _You'll see," Speri replied grimly as Andromeda's Holo flared to life. "It's on every freaking channel. You can't miss it."_

 _Speri was right. Big as life, the flickering images showed a rubble-filled street lined with ruined buildings, and…was that? Yes! It was Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, standing and facing a line of Peacekeepers. Each Peacekeeper was pushing a child ahead of them. From the drab, ragged clothing Andromeda could see that the kids were from a Community Home someplace._

" _What is this?" Andromeda asked._

" _Fucking Rebel propaganda, is what it is," Speri all but snarled._

 _Andromeda remembered the video of Katniss and Peeta in the remains of District Twelve. But this…this was different. Katniss was wearing some sort of form-fitting black costume, and Peeta was dressed like the other Rebel soldiers. And all of the Peacekeepers in District Twelve had been dead. These were very much alive._

 _The images kept flickering and fading, and Andromeda knew that the Rebels had once again been able to hack into the Capitol's communications and broadcasting system. There was a man speaking, narrating the action, but Andromeda hardly paid attention. She was too busy watching the drama unfold. There were Peeta and Katniss, bravely standing up, exposed, talking to the Peacekeepers. Another man…older, but in a uniform much like Peeta's…also stood up and was shouting at the Peacekeepers._

 _Andromeda watched in horror as a female Peacekeeper shot a little girl in the head, and almost immediately there were a series of explosions that shook the cameras, and the images dissolved into static. Only the man that had been narrating was still speaking, assuring the audience that Katniss and Peeta were uninjured, and were, in fact, alive and well. The narrator closed by saying that District Eight was now firmly in Rebel hands, and for all citizens of Panem to rise up against the Capitol._

 _Finally, the technicians in the Capitol were able to once again regain control of the broadcast, and the Rebel image faded, to be replaced by a Capitol drama. Andromeda became aware that Speri was talking to her._

" _Can you_ believe _that shit?" Speri asked._

 _Andromeda knew that her friend was a staunch Loyalist, so she carefully replied, "It looked awful."_

" _Oh, Meda, don't tell me that you actually believed that? Peacekeepers don't shoot kids in the head!" Speri paused for a moment. "Too bad that those traitors Everdeen and Mellark weren't killed, though."_

 _Andromeda refused to take her friend's bait. She glanced around her bedroom suite, the walls liberally decorated with posters of both Katniss and Peeta. "Then how do you explain what we just saw?" Andromeda asked._

 _Speri shrugged. "Actors. Who knows? The Rebels are nothing but a bunch of liars!"_

" _At least Katniss and Peeta are okay," Andromeda murmured._

" _Yeah," Speri replied. "Too fucking bad." Andromeda could see her friend quickly glance over her shoulder. "Hey. Gotta go, dad's coming. Talk to you in the morning." Andromeda's phone screen suddenly went black._

 _Andromeda sighed again and tossed her phone on the desk. Her head was reeling with what she had just witnessed. And, unlike Speri, the attack on the school didn't fill her with hatred for the Rebels. More than ever, it made her want to understand them. And she didn't like not understanding someone that believed in something so deeply that they were willing to die for it._

 _Were Katniss and Peeta willing to die? Andromeda felt her heart rise in her throat when she saw them enveloped by explosions, and felt relief wash over her when she heard that they were okay. But just because they were okay now didn't mean that they would_ stay _okay. And there was the matter of the Peacekeeper that killed the little girl. Peacekeepers didn't kill little girls. Or did they?_

 _Andromeda reluctantly picked up her science text and started to work on her homework again. At least she didn't have to worry about what the school was serving for lunch in the cafeteria tomorrow. Andromeda had heard that they were beginning to use canned meats instead of fresh for some reason._

 _But Andromeda couldn't concentrate. Instead, she found herself wishing that this whole stupid Rebellion was all over._

 _With Katniss and Peeta safe and alive, of course._


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

 **PART I**

Katniss and I stood in the mess hall, our eyes glued to the view screen suspended from the ceiling, and listened as Johanna Mason denounced the Rebellion.

"Johanna," Caesar Flickerman said, enunciating every word the carefully, "let me see if I understand you correctly. Are you calling for a cease-fire?"

Johanna's head turned slightly until she was looking directly at the camera. She looked pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes, her cheeks slightly sunken in, and I noticed tell-tale marks on her face…the fading remains of cuts and abrasions that even the best Capitol medicine and the most skilled Prep Team couldn't completely erase. I noticed something else as well…a slightly flickering of her eyes, as though she was shooting quick, furtive glances at something…or someone…off-camera.

"Yes, Caesar," Johanna said with a nod. "That's exactly what I am doing. Every Rebel, no matter where you are, you need to lay down your – "

That's all I was able to hear, as the mess hall erupted in a chorus of angry shouts, mostly consisting of suggestions for Johanna to perform physically impossible sexual acts, if not calling for her outright execution. I quickly glanced at Katniss to get her reaction, and I was not surprised by her look of total shock as Johanna spoke. I turned to say something to her, but before I could speak, a large hand descended on my shoulder, gripping it firmly.

"Come on, you two," Boggs said, as he deftly manuevered us out of the mess hall. "We have a hovercraft to catch." And, as Boggs herded us toward the West Hangar, I was finally able to speak, now that we were away from the cacophony of the mess hall.

"Looks like Snow is trying to match Plutarch propo for propo."

"I can't believe it," Katniss muttered. "Johanna _hates_ the Capitol and despises Snow! Why would she suddenly turn traitor?"

"Did you notice her eyes?" I asked. "She kept looking at something off-camera. I think she was being coerced."

"Coerced or not," Boggs said as we entered the elevator and he slammed the cage door shut, "statements like that won't be looked at favorably by Coin once this is all over. She'll likely face a tribunal."

"Even if she's being forced?" Katniss asks sharply.

"Even then," Boggs replies calmly as the elevator jerks to a start. "And that's the last time you two hit the mess hall right before we leave for an op. From now on, you fill your canteens in your quarters. I need you to concentrate on the mission in Ten, _not_ worrying about Johanna Mason. Got that?"

We both muttered our agreement as the elevator continued to rise. But that didn't stop me from convincing myself that Johanna Mason was being forced to say the things that she had said.

* * *

I leaned over and tapped Finnick on the knee to get his attention. "Hey, soldier," I said with a grin. "How are you holding up?"

Finnick twisted around in the web jump seat. "Okay," he replied softly. He clutched his specialty weapon tightly in his hands…a customized, powered trident. A short-barreled carbine, identical to my weapon, was slung across his chest. "Don't worry about me," he added. "Anything's better than sitting around that hospital doing nothing. And this is one step closer to Annie."

The hovercraft lurched slightly as it flew through a pocket of turbulence. "I'm sure she's okay, Finnick," Katniss said reassuringly. "Snow wouldn't dare do anything to her."

"She's alive," Finnick replied. "But I doubt that she's 'okay.'"

I patted Finnick on the shoulder. I didn't know what else to say.

Katniss unbuckled herself and slipped onto the jump seat next to Finnick. She bent her head close to his and began talking to him in a low voice, and soon she was able to coax a smile out of him. In minutes they were laughing like a pair of girls at a sleepover. Katniss and Finnick shared a bond that I could never hope to understand…the bond forged in their mutual forced prostitution by President Snow. I simply smiled, leaned back in my seat, and occupied myself with examining the rest of the team on the hovercraft.

Our old team had some new members. Familiar faces such as Boggs, Jackson, Mitchell, Homes, and the Leeg sisters had been augmented by some new muscle…namely Madge Undersee, Rory Hawthorne, July Barrow, and my old nemesis, one Staff Sergeant (and former Drill Sergeant) Duffy. Needless to say, I was less than pleased to see him join our team. Boggs had explained that Duffy had been lobbying to join an active combat unit for quite some time, and assured me that he and Jackson would make sure that Duffy was assigned duties that would limit his interaction with either myself or Katniss.

"Ten minutes out," the pilot's voice crackled in my earpiece. I craned my head around toward the small window set high in the hovercraft bulkhead and tried to get my first look at District Ten from the air. It was pretty disappointing. Flat grazing land stretched out in every direction. I tried to remember what Ten had been like from my Victory Tour stop, but the only thing that immediately came to mind was the musty, earthy smell that seemed to permeate everything in the district. I shouldn't be too critical, however. According to Effie Trinket, District Twelve hadn't smelled all that great either.

I could assure her that it smells a great deal worse now.

* * *

"Welcome to One-Seventeen."

The speaker had been introduced to us as General Lucius Beck of the District Ten Free Militia. He was a large, florid-faced man who wore a strange, broad-brimmed hat with a single five-pointed star pinned to the front. And I got the distinct impression that he wasn't all that impressed with either Katniss or me.

"Thank you, General," Boggs replied smoothly as he extended his hand. "Boggs, Chief of Security for District Thirteen."

Beck shook his hand perfunctorily. "Colonel." He peered past Boggs at the rest of the security detachment. "These your glamour soldiers?"

I noticed Boggs' jaw muscles tighten almost imperceptibly, but he showed no other reaction to Beck's insulting attitude. "Squad Four Fifty-One, under the command of Lieutenant Jackson." Jackson stepped forward and nodded her head once. "They're here to provide security for our Victors."

Beck examined the three of us…myself, Katniss, and Finnick…distastefully. "Colonel, I want to reiterate my opposition to this dog and pony show of yours. I'm tryin' to bring One-Seventeen under control, and this is a distraction that I don't need."

I frowned slightly in confusion and glanced at Katniss, mouthing the words "Dog and pony?" Katniss's only response was a single shake of her head and a quick shrug of her shoulders. Neither of us saw either dogs or ponies when we arrived here.

Boggs ignored the strange comment. "Understood and noted," he said smoothly. "And I'll remind you now that your continued support from District Thirteen, as well as District Eight, depends on your willing and cheerful support of our 'dog and pony' show."

Beck's face clouded, and, for a moment, it appeared as though he was going to say something, until he made a "follow me" gesture with his hand and spun on his heel. "Come on," he grumbled. "I'll bring you up to speed on our situation here."

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath as we trotted after him.

"Say again, Peeta?" Haymitch's voice crackled in my earpiece. Once again, he was orbiting above us in a stealth hovercraft.

"Nothing," I said, as clearly as possible.

"That's what I thought you said," Haymitch said cheerfully. "Listen, you two. Stay alert. This area is not secured and it's still an active combat zone."

As if to punctuate his remarks, Katniss, Finnick and I all flinched at the sudden rattle of gunfire coming from, at the most, two hundred meters to our front. The gunfire was punctuated by several quick explosions.

"Copy that," I replied dryly as we followed Beck into a ramshackle building. Time to find out just how well the war was progressing here in Ten.

 **PART II**

I had envisioned Rail Hub One-Seventeen to look something like the train stations that I had become familiar with during my Victory Tour…a passenger terminal, perhaps, with some warehouses for freight, and a half-dozen or so loading docks. I couldn't have been more wrong.

There was all that, of course…but on a huge scale. One-Seventeen was a town in its own right. Stock pens that could hold hundreds of cattle. Slaughterhouses that covered acres. Huge walk-in freezers that were still operating, thanks to the solar panels on their roofs. District Twelve had just two rail lines running through its terminal. This one rail hub alone had eight.

And, unlike the beaten, desperate Peacekeepers that we had seen in District Eight, the ones fighting here in Ten were motivated, disciplined, well equipped, and still had plenty of fight left in them. There was a good reason for this. District Eight produced clothing and textiles. Ten produced food. Beef, pork, lamb, goat, chicken, duck, turkey, rabbit…virtually every gram of animal protein sold in Panem comes from District Ten. The Capitol could do without the latest fashions. They couldn't do without food. And neither could the Peacekeepers that were fighting for them.

On top of all that, the Rebel forces were exercising great care to not damage the facilities here, whereas the Peacekeepers had no problem with shelling buildings and choking the narrow streets of One-Seventeen with rubble. This hub may have been critical to the Rebellion, and to the districts to the east…but it was probably the least important to the Capitol. And the fact that the Capitol was willing to expend Peacekeepers to deny One-Seventeen to the Rebels rather than to simply bomb it from the air was pretty revealing in itself…it told us that they didn't have hovercraft to risk in a bombing campaign.

That meant one thing. The combined forces of Districts Eight, Ten, and Thirteen would have to dig out the Peacekeepers, one block at a time, and do it quickly, while there was still enough of Rail Hub One-Seventeen left to use.

* * *

"Stay frosty, Bravo Team," Staff Sergeant Duffy barked. His team…Bravo Team…was tasked with covering our rear. I glanced behind me and saw that our rear security was, indeed, "frosty." Madge, Rory, and July were constantly scanning the buildings that we passed, looking for any signs of possible ambush or attack from the rear.

I felt pretty confident that we weren't going to be surprised. A block behind Bravo, an entire platoon was carefully clearing the buildings, and, so far, had found nothing. The battle was up ahead. We could hear it distinctly and it got louder with each block that we passed.

Both sides of the street were dominated by squat, sprawling three-story buildings. The District Ten liaison, a young militiaman who had introduced himself as Tomas, had explained that these were slaughterhouses, butcher shops, and packing plants all rolled into one.

"I don't know what would be worse," Katniss muttered as she and I walked closely together. "Working the mines and being buried alive all day, or working in one of these buildings and having to stand ankle deep in blood all day."

"How about neither?" I shifted my grip on my carbine slightly.

"I second that," Finnick chimed in. "After all this is over, you two come live in District Four. You'll love it there."

Katniss and I chuckled, earning a dirty look from Messalla. "Come on, you guys," he said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice. "I need you to all look grimly determined. Can you do that? And Katniss, can you fit an arrow to your bow? You need to look like you're expecting trouble any second."

Katniss rolled her eyes. "'Grimly determined?'" She fixed a scowl on her face as she drew an arrow from her quiver and nocked it to the bowstring. "How's this?"

"You look pissed, Katniss," Finnick pointed out as I laughed. I glanced at Messalla, who was definitely not looking pleased with us at all.

"Shit," he muttered. Louder, he said, "Katniss, quick screwing – "

The sudden roar of large engines coming from a side street to our left drowned out whatever Messalla said next. At the same time, I heard someone shout "Cover, cover, cover!" through my earpiece. Once again, the combat drills that Duffy had hammered into me paid off and I immediately went to ground, even as a deafening explosion thundered above my head.

Chunks of brick and concrete rained down on us, and I cursed the fact that Katniss, Finnick, and I were bare-headed, while our escort all wore helmets. Messalla had said that we would stand out in the propos better…Katniss with her long, single braid of dark hair, me with my blonde hair, and Finnick with his unruly auburn shock…but right now, I just covered my head with my arms and hoped for the best.

"Assault gun!" someone yelled as the engines grew louder and real fear gripped my belly. Our unit was dismounted, moving through this section of One-Seventeen on foot. I looked up as another explosion further up the street echoed off the buildings, just in time to see three assault guns burst from a side street, their cannons booming as their machine guns raked the positions of the Rebel forces.

Instinctively, I raised my carbine and triggered off a burst at the lead gun, knowing that the best I could hope for was to maybe interfere with the gunner's aim. Even as I was shooting, I saw Katniss rise up to a kneeling position and raise her bow, the arrow that she had nocked a moment earlier now drawn back as she aimed and let the arrow fly in a single smooth motion.

"Katniss!" Finnick shouted. "What – "

I'll probably never know if Katniss deliberately chose one of her explosive arrows or not. No matter. The arrow struck the lead gun square in the front grill and exploded, causing the front end of the heavily armed Peacekeeper truck to actually rise off the ground before settling back on its wheels as it ground to a stop. I could hear myself letting out a triumphant shout that quickly died on my lips as the gun turret slewed around towards where the three of us were hunkered down, and I realized with dismay that Katniss had stopped the truck from moving, but the guns were still as deadly as ever.

"Come on!" Finnick leapt to his feet, his trident clutched in one hand, and ran past Katniss, grabbing her with his free hand and whirling her around, pulling her after him. "There!" he shouted as I joined them in their dash toward the building to our rear, the sound of the battle now a continuous roar in my ears.

"Where are you?" Haymitch's voice cut through the cacophony of gunfire and explosions as the three of us burst through the first door we came across. "Katniss! Peeta! Finnick! One of you report in!"

"In…in a building," I managed to gasp out as I tried not to gag from the smell. Even though this building had not been used in a while, the coppery smell of blood still hung in the air. I then noticed that we weren't the only ones to find cover in here. Rebel soldiers from all three districts were even now beginning to return fire through broken windows and holes in the walls, but I knew it was futile…their small arms were no match for the sudden onslaught of Peacekeeper assault guns.

"What building?" Haymitch asked anxiously, his voice rising an octave.

"Fuck if I know!" I barked, ducking once more as a rain of debris showered down from above.

"Boggs here." Even in the heat of battle, Boggs sounded calm and collected. "It's the building directly across the side street where those assault guns came from." I looked around until I spotted him, crouched behind a conveyor belt used to transport freshly slaughtered livestock to the second floor.

"Copy that," Haymitch's voice replied. "Tac air is on the way. There's some sort of loading platform on the other side of the building. Make your way there and signal us when you're clear, and we'll pick you up."

"I'll get 'em there," Boggs promised.

"No, you won't." Katniss's voice came through my earpiece very clearly. "We stay and fight. This is our war too, Haymitch!"

She was absolutely right. If the Victors cut and ran from this battle, what message would it send to the rest of the Rebels, and, more importantly, to the districts that weren't completely committed to the fight? I looked over at her, one side of her face bloody from a gash in her forehead, and smiled grimly. She was sandwiched between Finnick and I, and Finnick was actually laughing as bullets cracked over our heads and explosions continued to rain debris down on us.

"Now listen here, Sweetheart. Don't go playin' hero! Now, I'm tellin' you – "

Haymitch's voice was suddenly cut off as Katniss reached out and plucked my earpiece from my ear and dropped it to the floor, before she did the same with her own earpiece. She turned to Finnick to do the same, but he beat her to it, and for good measure he ground his into the floor with the heel of his boot. Katniss smiled and carefully laid her bow on the floor as she reached a hand out to both of us, grasping our hands tightly in hers.

"Together?" she asked.

Finnick and I nodded. "Together," we echoed.

Katniss released our hands and snatched up her bow. "Come on." She ran in a half-crouch to a row of windows facing the street, and, as Finnick and I followed her, we got our first look at the battle. I could see right away that it wasn't going well for the Rebels.

The assault gun that Katniss had stopped was now silent and on fire. The Rebels weren't completely helpless against an armored foe and had returned fire with small, disposable rocket launchers. The only problem was that the other two assault guns had been joined by at least six standard Peacekeeper transports, and they were laying down a wicked base of fire while dismounted Peacekeepers cautiously advanced.

"I distinctly heard Haymitch tell you all to evacuate." Boggs' voice made me jump. I was so intent on what was happening with the Peacekeepers outside that I didn't even hear him come up to us from behind. Like Katniss, he was bleeding from a gash to his head. He seemed to not notice.

"Well, that's not happening," Katniss said flatly as she carefully fitted another explosive-tipped arrow to her bow.

"I can see that," Boggs replied. He turned and motioned for our security squad. "Soldier Everdeen," he began formally, "we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Finnick stepped between Katniss and Boggs. "The hard way," he said with a grin as he hefted his trident. "Right, Peeta?"

I, too, stepped forward to shield Katniss. "Right, Finnick."

"Be reasonable, Katniss," Boggs said calmly. "If something happens to any one of you three, Coin will take it out of my ass."

Katniss didn't even turn around. "Messalla, are you getting all this?"

"We're recording, Katniss," Messalla called back. Until that moment, I hadn't even realized that he, along with Castor and Pollux, had made it into the building.

"For the record," Katniss called out, "The three Victors are acting independently. We've been advised by Colonel Boggs of the danger. We choose to stay willingly. Got that?"

"Got it," Messalla acknowledged.

"Good," Katniss replied. "And Messalla? If we get killed, make sure you get it on camera, okay?"

"Will do."

Katniss turned to Boggs. "All right, Boggs. Satisfied?"

Boggs snorted and shook his head, flinching slightly as another explosion rocked the building. "Put your exploder away," he ordered. "Not enough explosive to punch through a Peacekeeper truck side armor. Use your incendiaries instead."

"What good will that do?" Katniss asked, even as she complied. "Armor won't burn."

"No," replied Boggs with a grin, "but it'll make it nice and hot inside those trucks, now, won't it?"

Katniss didn't reply as she let her first arrow fly. A second later, a fiery flower bloomed against the side of an assault gun. Quickly she fired again, and again, and again, incendiary arrows flying as fast as she could shoot them. They had their desired effect. The vehicles slowed, then stopped, as the crews began evacuating them, overcome by the intense heat.

"Perfect," Boggs said. "Tac air is on the way. And the Peacekeepers aren't sure where your arrows are coming from." He squeezed Katniss's shoulder. "There's no firing signature from a bow." He turned and gestured to us. "Come on. Time to relocate. They'll figure out soon enough where the fire's coming from, and we don't want to be there when they do."

Hunkering down low, we trotted after Boggs, trying to ignore the bullets cracking over our heads. We also tried, and failed, to ignore the growing number of Rebel bodies accumulating on the floor, adding the smell of their fresh blood to the cloying odor that already hung heavy in the building. One thing was sure…we couldn't stay in here much longer.

"Where did they all come from?" I asked, as I trotted next to Boggs.

"Not sure," he grunted. "Liaison thinks possibly underground. Some of the older buildings were built with large cold cellars. Been years since they used them that way. Most of the time they were forgotten. All I know for sure is, our eyes in the sky say that one second the side streets were clear, and the next…assault guns were firing at us."

"What does it matter?" Katniss snapped. "They're there, that's the only thing that matters right now. And we – "

A new burst of fire outside was almost immediately followed by cries of pain to our rear. I skidded to a stop and whirled around. A District Ten militia squad had been bringing up the rear and had taken the brunt of fire from this new hail of bullets. More than half were on the floor, bleeding from the places where Peacekeeper bullets had punctured their flesh. And I instantly realized that there weren't enough of them left on their feet to drag away all their wounded.

I didn't hesitate. I turned and ran as fast as my prosthetic leg would carry me back to where the militia squad was sprawled out on the floor, ignoring the shouts from Boggs, Katniss, and Finnick. I homed in on a young militia fighter who was desperately trying, and failing, to stand up on legs bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. He was a big, awkward looking kid that, as I drew closer, strongly reminded me of Husker, my big ally from District Nine that I had watched die, and that fueled my determination to save _this_ kid even more.

I skidded to a stop beside him and dropped to my knees. The floor under him was slick with his blood. "It hurts," he moaned, his eyes clenched tightly shut. "It hurts so bad…"

I slung my carbine across my back. "I know," I said gently. I slid my hands under his arms and squatted, trying to pull him up, but the kid…he couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen…didn't budge. He was too big for me to pick up on my own and there wasn't any help nearby.

"Need a hand?" I glanced up when I heard Katniss's voice. I should have known that she would come after me. And I also knew that there was really nothing that she could do to help.

"Yeah," I grunted. "Where's Finnick?"

Katniss jerked her head to one side. "Over there." Out of the corner of my eye I could see Finnick carrying a female militia soldier to safety. "He's like you. Mr. Lone Wolf Hero."

"So says the girl that takes on assault guns with her bow," I replied with a grim laugh. "Katniss, go back and send Mitchell or Homes over to help me with this kid. He's too big even for both of us."

The kid's eyes suddenly snapped open and he stared up at us in surprise. "Katniss?" The word came out almost reverently. "Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark?"

"I'll get some help," Katniss said. She looked down at the kid on the floor and smiled. "You just lie still. You'll be okay. I promise."

As Katniss trotted off, the kid looked up at me, wonder in his eyes. "Katniss Everdeen just talked to me," he said, his voice tinged with amazement. "And Peeta Mellark came to help _me_."

"And why shouldn't I?" Behind me I heard excited shouts of "They're falling back! They're falling back!" I ignored the shouts as I clumsily applied bandages to his bleeding legs.

The kid jerked and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as another spasm of pain tore through his body. "General Beck…he said it was our job to protect you. Not…not the other way around."

"Well, soldiers help each other out. That's what we do." I glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps to see Mitchell running toward me. Good. Between us we would have no problem carrying this kid to the makeshift aid station that was being set up against the far wall.

"Everdeen sent me," he said simply. Mitchell had always been a man of few words.

"Great," I replied as I stood up. "He's too big for me to carry on my own."

"I'll take his legs," Mitchell said as he squatted down and grasped the kid's ankles, ignoring his moans of pain.

"Sorry," Mitchell muttered. "No easy way to do this."

"It's okay," the kid gasped as I grabbed him under his arms. Together, Mitchell and I lifted him off the bloody floor.

"What's happening over there?" I asked, as we began to slowly and awkwardly make our way back to the others.

"Not sure," Mitchell grunted. "Peacekeepers suddenly fell back. Doesn't make any sense. They friggin' had our balls in a vise."

At this, the kid's eyes snapped open again. "They fell back?"

"Yeah," Mitchell said. "Ceased fire and fell back."

"Shit." That one word was filled with fear. "That means that – "

I never heard what the kid…I never learned his name…said that meant. The next sound I heard was a loud fluttering sound, a _chuff, chuff, chuff, chuff_ sound coming from directly over my head. I had just enough time to glance up, hear someone shout "Incoming!", and watched as the roof of the cavernous building suddenly bloomed into impossibly huge, red blossoms of pure fire.

And the world then fell on top of me.

 **PART III**

"Give me an update, doctor."

 _That voice! So familiar…but where am I?_ I struggled to regain consciousness, but even opening my eyes was a monumental task.

"Cracked ribs, various cuts and abrasions, and a severe concussion. Otherwise he's in pretty decent shape, sir."

A new voice now. "Doctor, he's coming around."

"Excellent," the first voice said. "Leave us."

"President Snow – "

 _President Snow? Where am I?_ A sudden spasm of fear gripped my belly. _This is not good. Not good at all!_

" _Now,_ doctor. I will summon you shortly."

A pause. "Yes, Mr. President." I could hear the sound of a door open, then close, followed by a scraping sound.

"Casca. Spartacus. Wait outside. I'll call for you shortly. I do not wish to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir." Another sound of a door opening, then closing.

I could feel a warm breath on my cheek, accompanied by the overwhelming odor of blood and roses. "Open your eyes, Mr. Mellark."

 _Shit. It_ is _Snow! But how?_

"I know you can hear me. Open your eyes. Now!"

Reluctantly, I forced my eyes open. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus, my head swimming with pain. Well, the one voice _did_ say that I had a severe concussion.

"That's better," the Snow-voice purred.

At first, all I could see was a bright light directly over my head. With effort, I turned toward the sound of the voice, and saw a too-familiar mane of snow-white hair come into view. I frowned, forcing my eyes to focus on the image swimming before me. I was finally able to make out the lined face, the beard surrounding thick, puffy lips, now stretched across the face in a cruel smile.

"How?" I managed to croak.

Snow chuckled unpleasantly. "Your little foray into District Ten was an abject failure, Mr. Mellark. You were discovered by my Peacekeepers in a shelled-out building. You could scarcely imagine my unbridled joy when I received the report that you were still alive."

"I'm sure," I muttered.

Snow actually looked hurt. "Please, Mr. Mellark. My boy, I like you. I actually do. I shed real tears when I thought that you had perished along with so many of your comrades. No, my boy, my joy at hearing the news that you were still alive was genuine."

"I'm in the Capitol?" I asked, my voice a near-whisper.

Snow nodded. "Indeed. In Victor's Mercy, to be exact. Once you are medically cleared, you will be moved to more suitable accommodations."

I swallowed heavily and looked back toward the ceiling. "What…what will you do to me?"

Snow leaned forward. "Mr. Mellark," he sighed, "you and your friends have caused me a great deal of trouble with your misguided little uprising. I have to admit; I was greatly disappointed by your actions. I had thought that we had an understanding. I underestimated you, Mr. Mellark. That is a mistake that I will not make again."

He paused while he raised a white handkerchief to his mouth and coughed slightly. "Now, as to you. You owe me, Mr. Mellark. You owe me, and I intend to see that you pay your restitution in full."

"How?" I managed to ask.

Snow smiled unpleasantly. "You and Miss Mason will make a formidable propaganda team. I can only imagine that your surviving comrades will waste no time in calling for your head."

"I can't do that," I said flatly.

Snow's eyes narrowed. "And why not?"

I spoke a single word in response. "Katniss."

A look of sorrow crossed Snow's face. "My boy, you are worried about what Miss Everdeen would think?"

I didn't reply. "You needn't worry, Mr. Mellark. Rest assured, Miss Everdeen will not think poorly of you for your cooperation in ending this useless and destructive rebellion."

"And you know this how?" I asked, turning toward him once more.

"Because, my boy," Snow replied gently, "Katniss Everdeen is dead."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

 **PART I**

" _He's not here."_

 _Katniss Everdeen looked down at the pair of broken bodies sprawled at her feet. The bodies were of two men, obviously dead, and surrounded by rubble…the remnants of the building that had first been a refuge, and later a trap, during an ill-conceived battle for Rail Hub One-Seventeen._

 _Although One-Seventeen was now firmly in the hands of the Rebellion, the victory had come at a high price._

 _The smell of death hung heavily in the air, but Katniss seemed to not notice. All of her attention was on the pair of bodies, dead now for several days, and, more importantly, the fact that there were only two bodies and not three, as she had expected to find._

" _I think this one is Mitchell," Katniss said softly. Absently, she reached under the sling that cradled her left arm and tried to scratch under the hastily applied cast, wincing slightly as her fingers pressed too firmly on an especially tender spot. "I don't know who the other one is."_

" _It is Mitchell," Jackson confirmed, as she squatted down next to the body. "We served together for years. I'd know him anywhere." Her voice caught slightly as she spoke, but her face remained carefully neutral. "I think the other one is from Ten's militia," she added._

" _He's alive, then." Katniss looked up at the two men standing off to one side. The younger of the two men was favoring his right leg, and was using a trident, of all things, as a makeshift crutch. The older man, whose erect bearing and confident demeanor were evident even under the filthy bandage that covered half his face, was looking at Katniss sadly._

" _He's alive," Katniss repeated, her voice rising. "Alive! He has to be alive, Boggs! They wouldn't have bothered taking him if he wasn't!"_

" _Katniss," Boggs said gently, "it's been days, and we haven't heard anything. Do you think Snow would wait in parading him in front of the cameras if they had him?" Boggs shook his head. "Peeta would be an invaluable propaganda tool. I just don't think – "_

" _No! He's alive!" Katniss snapped. "He's not laying here dead! He's alive!" She turned to the younger man, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Finnick,_ tell _him!"_

 _Finnick Odair nodded once. "Colonel, we don't have a body. And Katniss has a point. The Peacekeepers wouldn't have bothered lugging a corpse out of here." He straightened up slightly. "I'm with the Mockingjay. Peeta Mellark is alive until…until someone can prove otherwise."_

 _Boggs looked first at Finnick, then at Katniss, before nodding once, tightly. "Of course." He looked down at Jackson. "Lieutenant, please officially list Soldier Peeta Mellark as 'missing in action.'"_

 _Jackson stood up slowly, carefully brushing her hands off on her pants. "Yes, sir," was her only response._

 _Katniss didn't reply. Instead, she spun around and, together with Finnick Odair, made her way carefully out of the rubble and into fresher air, even as Jackson was issuing new orders to Squad Four Fifty-One._

" _Duffy, contact Graves Registration on these two," she ordered. "Homes, you and the Leeg sisters stick to Everdeen and Odair. Don't let 'em outta your sight." As the soldiers turned to comply with their orders, Jackson looked around the ruined building and shook her head slowly._

" _What a mess," she muttered._

" _Agreed." Boggs said as the two soldiers walked slowly through the ruins._

" _I don't think he's alive," Jackson said, as they carefully stepped over the twisted remnants of a conveyor belt._

" _Neither do I," Boggs agreed. "Chances are; some overexcited Peacekeeper blew his brains out before he realized what a prize he had. He's probably buried in a shallow grave somewhere here in One-Seventeen." Boggs paused, wiping his sweating face with a filthy bandana. "I just can't see Snow not taking immediate advantage of such a prize…_ if _he was delivered alive."_

" _That's my thinking also," Jackson said._

" _Still," Boggs added, "make sure your personnel report lists him as 'missing in action,' but you may want to add 'presumed dead' to that."_

" _Yes, sir." Jackson replied._

" _Just don't let Everdeen know about the 'presumed dead' part," Boggs added._

 _Jackson didn't reply. She was a good soldier, and a good leader. Boggs knew she would do exactly as she was ordered._

" _What a mess," he muttered._

* * *

 _Boggs stood in front of President Alma Coin's desk, staring at a spot on the wall behind her head, as she finished scrolling through the report on her PADD. After several minutes, she sighed, tossed the PADD onto her desk, and sat back in her chair, tiredly rubbing her eyes. Only then did she look up at Boggs, her face set in an impassive mask._

" _Sit," she said, waving him into a chair._

 _Slowly, Boggs sat down, but he didn't relax. His back was straight, each hand clasped firmly on his knees, his face just as impassive as Coin's, as he waited for her to speak again._

 _He didn't have long to wait. "What a cluster fuck," Coin muttered._

" _Yes, ma'am," Boggs replied carefully._

 _Coin looked at Boggs sharply. "Oh, relax, Boggs." Her gaze softened slightly. "How are you feeling?"_

" _All right, Madam President," Boggs said. "The doctors tell me that the bandages can come off the day after tomorrow."_

 _Coin nodded. "Good." She paused for a moment before continuing. "And how about Odair and our Mockingjay?"_

" _Finnick Odair has a badly sprained ankle. Katniss Everdeen's left arm was broken. They are both still in the hospital, but it's just a precaution at this point." Boggs looked down at his lap. "I'm more concerned about her mental state."_

 _Coin nodded. "Give her a couple of days. Perhaps by then we'll have some solid news about Peeta Mellark."_

" _Heavensbee thinks he's alive, then?" Boggs asked skeptically._

" _He hasn't been able to confirm with his operatives in the Capitol, but yes, he thinks Mellark is alive."_

" _Then why hasn't Snow announced his capture?"_

 _Coin shrugged. "Who knows? But Everdeen made a good point. Why haul his body off? If the Peacekeepers were able to identify the body of Peeta Mellark, then all that they needed to do was to take some photographs and clip some of his hair for DNA analysis to confirm. The situation at that point was very fluid, and it would have taken two to four Peacekeepers to carry him off. I doubt if their commander would have committed Peacekeepers that were needed to fight just to carry away a corpse."_

 _Boggs nodded slowly. "I had Jackson list him as MIA, presumed dead."_

" _Prudent," Coin replied. "At any rate, One-Seventeen…or what's left of it…is now in our hands."_

" _There's only one operational rail line coming out of One-Seventeen," Boggs said. "General Beck promised two more up and running in thirty days. The Peacekeepers really made a mess of things there."_

 _Coin shook her head in disgust. "Beck," she said, practically spitting the word. "He's already screaming for more support. At least Paylor is more diplomatic about it."_

" _The other rail hubs in Ten don't seem to be as well defended as One-Seventeen," Boggs pointed out. "The Peacekeepers were hell-bent on denying us One-Seventeen. They expended fully a quarter of their assets in Ten in their attempt to deny us that one hub."_

" _And almost succeeded," Coin pointed out. Wearily, she rose to her feet. "I want you to go back to your quarters for the rest of the day, Boggs. Or to a recreational facility. Anywhere but work. Understand?"_

" _Madam President – "_

" _Don't argue with me, Colonel," Coin said firmly. "Watch a video. Listen to music. Sleep. You're no good to me, or to the Rebellion, if you're exhausted." She turned away, and then looked back at Boggs. "Now, excuse me. I'm going to meet with Mitchell's family. His mother and I have known each other since childhood. I owe her this much."_

 **PART II**

"Wake up, Townie."

My eyes snapped open at the sound of the familiar voice. Gamma Churchill was perched on the end of my bed. Next to her, Gale Hawthorne was sprawled casually in a chair. I groaned and let my head fall back to the bed.

"Nice to see you too," Gamma said.

"Please give me some good news," I muttered. "I could use some. In case you haven't noticed, I'm in deep shit here."

"Yeah," Gale replied flatly as he sat up. "We can see that. Not enough that you had to play hero in Eight. You just had to do it again in Ten."

"I don't need any lectures, Hawthorne!" I snapped. "If that's why you're here, then you can go haunt someone else."

Gale stood up suddenly. "We don't need this shit, Gamma. If he's not appreciative of our help, maybe we _should_ go!"

Gamma sighed. "Shut up, Gale," she said tiredly. She turned back to me. "We don't have much time. I have two messages. Are you listening?"

I felt my heart rise in my throat. "Is it…is it about Katniss?"

Gamma ignored my question. "First message: things aren't always what they seem."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Second message: take both."

"That's it?" I snort in disgust. "You two pop in, speak in riddles, and leave. That's the best that you can do?"

Gale snapped his fingers. "Gotta go, Gamma."

"Afraid so, Townie," Gamma said as she patted my leg. "We'll talk again. Bye for now."

* * *

"Wake up."

"Go away," I mumbled.

The reaction this time was to grab me roughly by my shoulders and shake me. "You traitorous little shit!" A hand slapped me across my face, jarring me fully awake. "Wake your ass up, _now_."

I forced my eyes open and found myself staring into the cold eyes of one of my Peacekeeper guards. _Shit. Not Gamma and Gale._ "Sorry," I muttered, hopefully sounding contrite.

"Smartass," the guard grumbled in an unmistakable District Two accent. "Sit up," he commanded. "You have a visitor."

Slowly I complied, my ribs protesting as I propped myself up on my elbows and swung my legs off the rough cot, the stainless steel chain attached to my one good leg jingling slightly as I moved. I sat on the edge of the cot as the guard stepped back, signaling to someone outside my cell. I heard the door creak open and the guard, without a word or a backward glance, stepped out of the cell. A moment later, another man stepped inside, and I was immediately assailed by a familiar odor of blood mingled with roses as the cell door clanged shut once again.

President Coriolanus Snow walked slowly into my cell, pulled the single chair out, and sat down, facing me. For long seconds neither of us spoke, and I could feel the decidedly uncomfortable sensation of his eyes, serpent-like, sizing me up, as a snake must do to a mouse before it strikes.

"How do you like your new accommodations, Mr. Mellark?" Snow finally asked.

"My room in the hospital had a window," I replied honestly, hoping that he didn't sense just how frightened I was at that very moment.

Snow chuckled. "That it did, my boy. That it did." He paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully with his fingertips, before continuing. "You don't seem surprised by my visit."

In fact, I was shocked, but I was determined not to let him know that. Instead, I just shrugged. "I guess I haven't given it a lot of thought, Mr. President."

 _Actually, if you really want to know, Mr. President, I'm somewhat relieved that you're here. At least I'm reasonably sure that I won't have a cloth tied to my face and water poured on it, or have my balls hooked up to live wires, as long as you are sitting here._

I didn't reply. "No matter," Snow continued, waving his hand dismissively. "I am here because I have just received some news that I wished to deliver to you personally."

"What's that, sir?" I asked, hoping that I sounded interested.

"It seems," Snow said, "that I was given faulty and premature intelligence. As it so happens, Katniss Everdeen is still very much alive."

 _You son of a bitch! I'd rather have my balls electro-shocked!_ "You…you told me before that she was dead," I managed to say, my voice catching in my throat.

"So I had been given to believe," Snow said. "And, in hindsight, I should have waited for confirmation before passing on such distressing news to you. Be that as it may, earlier reports were in error. The body of a young woman bearing a very strong resemblance to Miss Everdeen was recovered by my Peacekeepers during the fluid phase of the battle in District Ten, and, in apparent eagerness to collect the posted reward, reported that Katniss Everdeen had been killed."

"Why should I believe you?" I choked out, my eyes suddenly blurry with tears.

Snow actually looked hurt. "Mr. Mellark, do you recall the deal that you and I made during my last visit to District Twelve? You _do_ remember my visit with my granddaughter, Andromeda?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "Good. Then you remember that we agreed not to lie to one another. That's an agreement that I hold personally sacred, Mr. Mellark. I trust that you feel the same way."

I finally found my voice. "Things were different then," I managed to say.

Snow's bushy white eyebrows went up in an inquiring expression. "Oh? How so?"

"We weren't at war," I point out.

Snow laughed again. "And we aren't at war now, my boy. These uprisings are disjointed, uncoordinated, and doomed to fail, just as they did during the Dark Days."

I could feel anger welling up inside me, in spite of my fear. "District Twelve was burned to the ground. District Eight is in ruins, and, from what little I saw of District Ten, well, it didn't look…or smell…much better than either Eight or Twelve. Sir, if that's not war, then what is?"

Snow's eyes narrowed into slits as I spoke, and, for a moment, I was afraid that I had gone too far. "Mr. Mellark, do you really want the answer to that question? What you've witnessed so far is nothing. How would you like to see nuclear mushrooms sprouting over the rebelling districts? Imagine thousands…even hundreds of thousands…dead in the blink of an eye. Incinerated. _That_ , Mr. Mellark, is _real_ war."

"You wouldn't do that," I said, my voice a near whisper. "You need the districts and what they produce to support the Capitol."

"Point taken, Mr. Mellark," Snow replied. "A single example would suffice to make my point. District Nine, perhaps. After all, much of their growing capacity is dedicated to the tesserae fields, and those are only for the benefit of the districts. Production of high quality grains could be given to, say, District Eleven. I'm sure they would gladly absorb District Nine's quotas in exchange for being spared a similar fate."

"You're forgetting one thing, sir," I pointed out, rather smugly.

"Oh?" Snow asked innocently. "And what might that be, my boy?"

"District – " Shit. I was about to say "District Thirteen," but "where are you and the rest of the rebels hiding?" was a standard interrogation question…and one that I had resisted answering in spite of the best efforts of my torturers.

"District…Thirteen, Mr. Mellark?" Snow chuckled again. "Oh, yes, we've figured that out long ago. They were the only ones that possessed the necessary military capability to support the insignificant little uprisings that have, sadly, taken up so much of my time of late. So, you see, my boy, you could have saved yourself a great deal of discomfort if you had simply answered a few simple questions during your interrogation sessions."

 _Okay, so he knows about Thirteen. That means he knows that Thirteen has nuclear weapons of their own. That means that he's bluffing about nuking any of the districts!_ In spite of my slip-up, it seemed that there was no real damage done. I vowed to be more careful. In his impeccably polite way, President Snow was a more effective interrogator than the worst of the Peacekeepers.

"Thirteen has nukes too," I pointed out flatly.

"Which they will not use, unless in direct self-defense," Snow replied confidently. "Whereas I have options. District Nine, as I've mentioned before. Or perhaps I could deliver the coup de grâce to District Eight. It is of no further use to me anyway."

"District Eight was a Rebel Victory," I said. The news that Katniss was still alive…I knew that Snow was telling the truth; honesty was about the only virtue that he _did_ possess…has made me bold in a way that I wouldn't have been just a few short minutes ago.

Snow shook his head sadly. "No, my boy. District Eight was a concession, not a victory for your pathetic little band. I simply chose to not contest it. After all, it really wasn't worth fighting for, now, was it?"

 _Was he lying? Did he just let District Eight fall into our hands?_ In terms of unimportance to the Capitol, Eight had ranked just below Twelve. Panem could get along just fine without Twelve's coal. And textile production could be absorbed by other districts that already had industrial capability, such as Two, Five, or Six. I thought back to the differences between the battles for Eight compared to what I saw in Ten at Rail Hub One-Seventeen. The Peacekeepers in Eight were defeated, demoralized, and desperate to just save their skins. In Ten, they fought viciously, and that was for one small piece of a large, sprawling district.

I knew then that Snow wasn't lying. And I knew that he would defend those districts that he deemed important just as fervently as he did in District Ten.

"At any rate," Snow continued, "I just wanted to pass on the happy news that Katniss Everdeen's death was, as an old saying goes, 'greatly exaggerated.'" Slowly, Snow rose to his feet. I heard the cell door creak open at the same time, and vaguely wondered how they knew to open the door at that exact moment.

Snow turned to leave, stopped, and then turned back towards me one final time. "She is alive for now, Mr. Mellark. For now. But I want you to think about something."

"What's that, sir?" I asked, feeling fear grip my insides once again at his suddenly menacing tone.

"I don't need District Thirteen either."

"But you said – "

"I said nothing." Snow's voice grew colder. "And I have no intentions of provoking a nuclear response from Thirteen. Options, Mr. Mellark. Always have options. A conventional strike would suit my purposes just as easily as a nuclear option would. Think about that, during your next interrogation session."

"I won't betray them."

Snow smiled unpleasantly. "I thought we had agreed not to lie to one another, my boy."

"I'm not. But I won't talk."

"A lie of omission is still a lie." Snow turned to the Peacekeeper standing patiently by the cell door. "Another session for Mr. Mellark is in order. And this time, do not stop until he gives you names. I want him broken. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Snow looked over his shoulder at me one final time. "Not that I need names, you understand." He smiled again. "And don't go anywhere. I wouldn't want you to miss anything."

 _I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how scared I am!_ Mustering my courage, I replied, as casually as possible, "I can't, Mr. President." I waved one hand at the empty place where my prosthetic leg would normally be. "You've taken my leg."

Snow's eyes narrowed slightly. "So I have." He then turned and stepped out of the cell, but not before issuing one final order to the Peacekeeper.

"Broken. Completely."

 **PART III**

 _Coriolanus Snow glanced up from the report that he was reading, slamming the cover closed in disgust. In spite of their best efforts, Peacekeepers were now fighting a losing battle in District Ten, with several more rail hubs falling to the Rebels. He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, looking up at the soft chime of his desk intercom.  
_  
 _Snow sat up, reached out, and punched a button. "Yes?"  
_  
" _Minister Blackstone is here, sir."  
_  
" _Send him in." Snow sat back in his chair and casually reached for a teacup, the chamomile now tepid, and took a quick swallow, grimacing slightly. He briefly toyed with the idea of summoning an Avox to warm the beverage up, but pushed the thought from his mind as his inner office door swung open and Panem's Minister of Security entered the room.  
_  
" _Ahh, Blackstone," Snow said. "Right on time." He waved one hand at a high-backed chair in front of his desk. "Sit."  
_  
 _The minister, obviously nervous, eased into the chair. Snow steepled his fingers in front of his lower face, gazing at Blackstone for a moment._ Stewing in his own juices, _Snow thought._ Well, he should. Another district lost…not to mention impossible-to-replace Peacekeepers.

" _We have a problem, Blackstone," Snow finally said, his voice casual, almost conversational.  
_  
" _Yes, sir," Blackstone replied nervously.  
_  
" _Winter is fast approaching, Blackstone. Shipments from District Four are practically nonexistent. Ten has fallen. That leaves Nine and Eleven as our only food sources, and shipments from both are spotty and inconsistent. Soon rationing will become mandatory here in the Capitol, for all food items. Even if I order the opening of our strategic food reserves, we won't last through the winter."  
_  
" _Yes, sir," Blackstone said again.  
_  
" _You're the Minister of Security, Blackstone," Snow pointed out coldly. "I expect to hear something more from you than 'yes, sir.'"  
_  
" _Mr. President, distribution of foodstuffs falls under the purview of the Minister of Agriculture," Blackstone replied shakily. "Perhaps if we heard what she – "  
_  
" _I have already spoken to her," Snow said quietly, but with menace hanging over every word. "She cannot very well distribute what she does not have, now, can she?"  
_  
" _No, sir."  
_  
 _Snow shook his head in disgust. "Give me an update on Ten."  
_  
 _Blackstone did. The situation was bleak, and, as previous reports had indicated, Ten was a lost cause as far as the Capitol was concerned. Snow listened as Blackstone made his report, saying nothing until the end.  
_  
" _Recommendations?" Snow asked.  
_  
 _Blackstone took a deep breath. "Evacuate all of our remaining Peacekeepers from Ten while we still have the means to do so. Concentrate our efforts on District Six."  
_  
 _Snow raised one eyebrow. "Six? Why?"  
_  
" _Deny the Rebels transportation. It's obvious that their next move will be either Nine or Eleven. I would bet on Eleven. But they can't move food without trains. So, we defend Six, and, if necessary, disable or destroy the trains to prevent them from falling into Rebel hands."  
_  
" _Then we would be unable to move supplies as well, Blackstone," Snow pointed out coldly.  
_  
" _Yes, sir," Blackstone replied. "Temporarily. But we have reserves. The Rebels don't. We can use their own strategy against them."  
_  
 _Snow looked thoughtful. "I'm glad to see that I did not make a mistake in appointing you Security Minister. Very well then…begin evacuating the Peacekeepers from Ten for immediate redeployment to Six. Blackstone, kudos for thinking outside the box. The Rebels won't expect this move. However, I don't want to launch into any operation involving the destruction of transportation assets just yet. I have another option that I wish to employ first."  
_  
 _Blackstone looked puzzled. "What's that, Mr. President?"  
_  
" _How is Peeta Mellark's interrogation coming along?" Snow suddenly asked, ignoring Blackstone's question.  
_  
 _Blackstone was startled by this sudden shift. "Uhhh…he is still resisting, in spite of our best efforts. He's given us no names, and no other information regarding District Thirteen. I've never seen anyone able to resist the way he does."  
_  
" _I should never have told him about Katniss Everdeen," Snow muttered. "I've given him hope. Hope, Blackstone, is the only thing stronger than fear. And young Mr. Mellark was afraid, make no mistake. Afraid and in despair over the loss of his beloved Katniss Everdeen. And now that I have told him that she lives, his hope is able to overcome that fear. No matter." Snow sat upright, his voice changing timber, becoming more forceful. "He is still of use to us. He will be useful as a coercion tool to keep Miss Mason compliant and willing to broadcast her pleas for the Rebels to disarm. I want him available for her next broadcast."  
_  
" _Yes, sir," Blackstone said.  
_  
" _One last thing, Blackstone," Snow added. "I want a strike on Thirteen. Conventional only. Penetrators. We'll catch them napping and, with luck, we won't even need to deploy our forces to Six." Snow paused for a moment before continuing, a cruel smile creasing his face. "The snake will die if we cut off its head."  
_  
" _When would you like this strike to take place, Mr. President?"_

" _During Miss Mason's next broadcast," Snow replied. "I'm sure the entire population of Thirteen will be glued to their Holo-screens, calling for her pretty little head." Snow looked down at his desk and the unread report sitting on it, before he looked up again. "That's all. You may go."  
_  
 _Blackstone stood, carefully saving his notes on his PADD. Snow was already engrossed in the report that he was studying. But, as Blackstone turned to leave, Snow's voice, suddenly cordial, stopped him.  
_  
" _How is Sperantia?"  
_  
" _Very well, thank you, Mr. President."  
_  
" _Well, perhaps in the next day or two she can pay Andromeda a visit. Andromeda misses her so."  
_  
" _I'll have her call Andromeda, Mr. President," Blackstone replied.  
_  
" _Yes, do that," Snow said absently, already back to concentrating on the report. Blackstone breathed a sigh of relief and quickly made his exit, happy to be leaving under his own power, rather than share a fate that had befallen other unlucky members of Snow's cabinet._

 _He, at least, was still breathing._

 **PART IV  
**  
" _What are you doing?"  
_  
 _Rory Hawthorne's head jerked up at the sound of Primrose Everdeen's voice. He had been so startled that he nearly dropped the file that he had been using on the rear grip of his carbine. He smiled sheepishly when he saw who it was that had startled him so badly.  
_  
" _Personalizing my weapon," Rory replied with a wolfish grin as he turned back to his task.  
_  
 _Prim frowned. "How?"  
_  
 _Rory held up the carbine and pointed to the rear grip. "See?"  
_  
 _Prim bent forward, examining three narrow, v-shaped notches cut in the bottom of the pistol grip. "Why did you do that?"  
_  
" _We're all doing it," Rory replied, as he passed his file one final time over one of the notches. "Sergeant Duffy heard about it from a militia sergeant in District Ten. They cut notches in their weapons for each confirmed Peacekeeper kill." Once again, he held up his carbine proudly. "Sergeant Duffy told me I have three confirmed."  
_  
 _Prim's eyes narrowed. "And you think that's something to brag about?"  
_  
 _This was not the reaction that Rory had expected. "Well," he stammered, "we…we all thought that it would be a good idea to – "  
_  
" _To what?" Prim snapped. "Brag about your 'kills?' What are you, Rory? A Career?"  
_  
" _Prim, I don't understand – "  
_  
 _Prim snorted. "That's obvious. Rory, do you really think it's okay to brag about killing people?"  
_  
" _My brother died in the Games, Prim," Rory said defensively. "And I was flogged…by a_ Peacekeeper _…for trying to feed my family! Your own sister was almost killed in the Games, remember? Katniss has done her share of killing, don't forget!"  
_  
" _Katniss doesn't_ brag _about it!" Prim practically shouted. "She_ hates _it! For that matter, so does Peeta, and Madge, and July Barrow. You're the only one that seems to_ like _it!"  
_  
" _I don't get it," Rory grumbled. "You grew up in the Seam, same as me. Remember our fathers dying together, Prim? Remember all those hollow days, when, no matter how much we managed to eat, it wasn't nearly enough? Remember watching Twelve burn, Prim?_ I _do. And it's all because of the Capitol. And Snow." Rory stood suddenly, clutching his carbine tightly in one hand. "I won't apologize. Not now, not ever. They owe me, Prim. They owe_ us. _And I plan on collecting what they owe me, one Peacekeeper at a time."  
_  
 _Prim shook her head sadly. "I don't even know you anymore," she whispered.  
_  
" _I'm the same," he replied firmly. "Maybe it's you that's changed."  
_  
 _Prim watched Rory stalk away angrily._ We've all changed, _she said to herself._ And I don't think winning this war will bring us back to the way we were.

* * *

" _She's not ready, President Coin."  
_  
 _Coin glared at the speaker. "I was given to understand that her arm is practically healed, Dr. Aurelius. What's the problem?"  
_  
" _Her arm_ is _almost completely healed," another voice chimed in, speaking in a refined Capitol accent. "The rapid healing protocols have knitted bone in days, rather than weeks. Katniss Everdeen has another problem, which can be best explained by Dr. Aurelius."  
_  
" _Thank you, Dr. Picardo," Aurelius said. "To put it succinctly, Katniss is suffering severe emotional trauma as a result of the loss of Peeta Mellark. Trying to force her in front of cameras for propos at this point would be a waste of time."  
_  
" _I see," Coin said coldly. "I assume that you are treating her for this trauma?"  
_  
" _President Coin," Aurelius explained patiently. "Katniss Everdeen's condition cannot be 'fixed' by a pill, or an injection, or hypnotherapy, or electroshock. She deeply loves Peeta Mellark. Her reaction is identical to that of a person suddenly losing a close relative or a spouse…even more so because we don't know what happened to him. If we had concrete evidence that he was dead, then I could work with her to bring her some closure. We just don't know."  
_  
" _My operatives in the Capitol have been able to give me assurances that are eighty-five to ninety percent reliable that Peeta is alive and being held in the Capitol," Plutarch Heavensbee said. "That information, by the way, is classified. However, we could tell Katniss – "  
_  
" _Nothing," Coin interrupted. "We say nothing unless we are one hundred percent sure."  
_  
" _I agree," Aurelius said. "Too much of a chance that the information is faulty. That would be even more devastating to her in the long run."  
_  
" _We need her," Coin muttered. "And Mellark as well. She's what the districts are rallying behind." Coin turned to Heavensbee. "Locate Mellark. That is your top priority, Mr. Heavensbee. And, once we find him, our new priority will be in rescuing him."  
_  
" _A rescue mission will require a lot of assets, Madam President," Heavensbee pointed out. "If Peeta is being held with the other Victor prisoners, then, well, we can't ignore them. We have to get them out too, if at all possible."  
_  
" _Do we have confirmation on any outside of Johanna Mason and Annie Cresta?" Coin asked.  
_  
" _Three more probable prisoners," Heavensbee replied. "Gloss and Cashmere, the brother and sister Victors from One, and Enobaria from Two."  
_  
" _Careers?" Coin asked in surprise. "Snow has his precious Careers in prison?"  
_  
" _Well, 'detainees' or 'confinees' may be more accurate terms, Madam President," Heavensbee explained. "My operatives think that they were brought to the Capitol to prevent them from possibly displaying pro-Rebellion sentiments."  
_  
" _Why go to all the trouble?" Coin asked. "Why not just kill them outright?"  
_  
" _They're too famous…too high-profile," Heavensbee replied. "Such a move could backfire on Snow…and he needs the continued support from both Districts One and Two."  
_  
" _Good point," Coin said. "All right. Any potential rescue mission has to take into account as many as six Victors." She smiled for the first time. "Mr. Heavensbee, imagine the propos you could make with eight Victors…and fully half coming from Career districts!"  
_  
" _We gotta get 'em out, first," a gravelly voice pointed out. Coin turned and faced the new speaker, Major Silenus Festuca. "Ain't gonna happen unless you got support on the inside. And, on another note, I don't like what I'm seein' in District Eleven."  
_  
 _Coin sighed. "How so, Major?"  
_  
" _Well, Snow's pulled out his remainin' Peacekeepers in Ten," Festuca pointed out. "But he's only sent token forces to both Nine and Eleven. He's holdin' back a lot of troops, and I can't figure out why…or where he could possibly send 'em."  
_  
" _Somehow I doubt that he's conceding Nine and Eleven to us," Coin said. "Mr. Heavensbee. You actually knew Coriolanus Snow. Any thoughts on what his strategy might be?"  
_  
 _Heavensbee shook his head. "Snow plays chess, Madam President. He's actually quite good. And his chess strategies are unorthodox, to put it mildly. Our move into Ten surprised him. More than likely, he was probably expecting us to tackle a more malleable target that has already been softened up, such as Four or Eleven. Our campaign in Ten has tipped our hand to our immediate goal of securing food for the Rebellion, while denying that same food to the Capitol." He shook his head again. "If anything, he should be beefing up his garrisons in Nine and Eleven."  
_  
" _So you have no idea what he may be up to?" Coin asked bluntly.  
_  
" _No, Madam President," Heavensbee admitted.  
_  
" _In the future, Mr. Heavensbee, a simple 'I don't know' will suffice." Heavensbee's neck and cheeks reddened slightly at the rebuke. "Mr. Latier," she said, turning away from Heavensbee, "I need you to get a message to Districts Four, Six, Nine, and Eleven, to alert us in the event that they experience any unusual upticks in Peacekeeper activity."  
_  
" _Yes, President Coin," Beetee replied quietly.  
_  
" _And," Coin added, "let Chaff know that Eleven is still next on our timetable, barring any new intel."  
_  
" _Of course," Beetee murmured as he quickly tapped keys on his PADD.  
_  
" _All right," Coin said as she stood up. "We're done here. Henry will inform you of the exact time for our next meeting. Plan on – " she glanced at her PADD "– tomorrow afternoon. We'll finalize our District Eleven op then."  
_  
 _As the group filed out of the conference room, Boggs hung back, falling in step with Festuca. "Major," he said quietly, "got a minute?"  
_  
 _Festuca glanced quizzically at Boggs. "Sure, Colonel," he replied as they walked down the corridor. "What's up?"  
_  
" _How well do you know Rory Hawthorne?" Boggs asked.  
_  
 _Festuca shrugged. "Seam kid. Hard life. But you could say that about everyone from the Seam. Why do you ask?"  
_  
" _I heard he was flogged," Boggs said slowly. "For poaching."  
_  
 _Festuca looked at Boggs sharply. "Yeah, he was. By Thread. That bastard striped his back good. Where are you going with this, Colonel?"  
_  
 _Boggs sighed. "Primrose Everdeen came to me earlier. It seems that Staff Sergeant Duffy has been encouraging his troops to notch their weapons with each confirmed kill they make."  
_  
" _And the Hawthorne kid took him to heart?" Festuca snorted in disgust.  
_  
 _Boggs nodded. "Apparently Duffy learned the trick from a trooper in Beck's militia. He and Hawthorne were the only two in his team doing it. I've set Duffy straight. I was wondering if you'd do the same for Rory Hawthorne."  
_  
 _Festuca looked at Boggs in surprise. "Me? I hardly know the kid!"  
_  
" _Well, either you or Abernathy," Boggs said irritably. "The kid looks up to you both. He'll listen to you."  
_  
" _I'll talk to Haymitch about it," Festuca promised. "Although I don't personally see the harm. The kid's got a lotta anger and hate in him. He needs to let it out somehow."  
_  
" _And if he's ever captured, you don't think the Peacekeepers won't figure those notches out?" Boggs asked. "Yeah. They will. And it'll go hard for young Hawthorne." Hi voice softened a bit. "You or Abernathy set him straight. I'll get him a new rear grip for his carbine."  
_  
" _Deal," Festuca replied. "I knew a detachment of Peacekeepers in Four. They were stationed in a remote spot, and they_ were _the justice there. Took to slicin' off ears and wearin' and stringin' them as necklaces if they had t' shoot or hang some rabble rouser. It's a pretty common trait. Easier to kill your enemy if you don't look at 'em as human to begin with."  
_  
 _Boggs nodded. "Thanks," he said softly.  
_  
 _Festuca grinned. "Don't mention it. Kid's got enough on his plate as it is." The elevator door slid open and Festuca stepped inside. "See you tomorrow, Colonel."  
_  
" _Major," Boggs said as he inclined his head slightly. A second later, the doors clanged shut and Boggs watched the elevator descend, before sighing and turning away._ There never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done, _he said to himself as he impatiently waited for the elevator to return.  
_  
 **PART V**

I shifted uncomfortably on the narrow bunk in my cell. My genitals and nipples still burned from where the wires had been clipped to me earlier. Still, I managed a humorless grin, in spite of the pain. I have yet to give my interrogators any information, in spite of their best efforts.

I know that I'm not alone in this prison. I've heard screams – female screams – coming from an adjoining cell, as well as some very loud, skillfully applied profanity. The voice is familiar, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my neighbor is none other than Johanna Mason. I have yet to see her - or anyone else for that matter - other than Peacekeepers, and my single visit by Snow. But I'm pretty sure it's her.

The sound of the cell door opening fills me with momentary dread. They have already fed me, so the only reason that anyone would be entering my cell now would be for more "interrogation." However, when I saw one of the Peacekeepers carrying my prosthetic leg, I knew that was not the case, and I relaxed slightly.

"Sit up," the Peacekeeper with my leg commanded gruffly. He tossed my leg onto the bunk as I complied. "Put that on."

"What's going on?" I managed to ask as I snapped my leg in place.

"Command performance," the other Peacekeeper said with a laugh, as he unlocked and removed the chain from my good leg. "And we ain't about to carry you. So stand up."

I complied shakily, standing as still as I could while the two Peacekeepers shackled my arms and legs, carefully running a chain from both sets of shackles to the belly chain around my waist. "I didn't know I was so dangerous," I managed to say.

One of the Peacekeepers slapped the back of my head. "Shut the fuck up," he growled, as he and the other Peacekeeper each took an arm. "Come on."

They led me out of my cell, not bothering to close the door, and, for the first time, I got a look at my surroundings. I was most definitely in a prison. Gray steel doors were regularly spaced down a long corridor. Like my cell, the walls were painted a dull off-white. My escorts and I only took a few steps out of my cell when we stopped.

I kept my mouth shut this time, not wanting to earn another cuff across my head. As it turned out, we waited for only a minute or so before another door swung open and a second prisoner stepped into the corridor, also escorted by a pair of Peacekeepers.

This prisoner was a female, slightly older than me, and well dressed. She, along with her escort, were trailed by a pair of Capitolites that positively screamed "prep team." The woman didn't show any outward signs of physical abuse, although she was gaunt, and had dark circles under her eyes that the makeup didn't quite manage to hide. We stared at each other in shock and mutual recognition for a second or two, until the woman spoke.

"Hello, handsome," Johanna Mason said through a forced smile. "Don't take this personally, but you look like shit."

I was forming a response when one of "my" Peacekeepers slipped a hood over my head, muttered "Let's go," and hurried me blindly down the corridor.

* * *

Voices.

I stumbled a bit as my escort roughly hurried me along. I heard one of them curse as, none too gently, he grabbed me under my arm and jerked me upright. I grunted slightly from the pain, silently pleased with myself that I was able to stifle any louder reaction. Suddenly, my escorts stopped, and one pushed me down into a hard metal chair.

"Sit," he growled. I could do nothing else but comply.

I was still wearing the hood, so I couldn't see a thing…but I could hear just fine. I concentrated on the voices around me, trying to hear what they were saying, hopeful that I would be able to recognize who was talking. I was soon rewarded for my efforts…and what I heard chilled me to the bone.

"– take it that everything is on schedule?" There was no mistaking that voice. It belonged to Coriolanus Snow.

"Yes, sir," a new voice – one that I couldn't identify – replied. "They took off from District Two four hours ago. So far they've reported no radar contact. By the time Thirteen picks them up on radar they won't have any time to take shelter, much less mount a defense."

"Good, good," Snow's voice said enthusiastically. "Well done, Blackstone. And the penetrators?"

"They can punch through six levels before exploding," the other voice…someone named Blackstone…replied. "They are the most powerful conventional bombs in our arsenal. The hovercraft will climb to bomb run altitude five minutes after the start of the broadcast, and will deploy their weapons three minutes after that."

"Excellent," Snow hissed. "Perfect, Blackstone. Perfect." I could feel that cold knot of fear twist inside my belly again as I processed what had just been said. A bombing raid on District Thirteen. And, as far as I knew, Katniss was in District Thirteen. And I had no way to warn them.

I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, followed by Snow's voice, now much closer. "Remove his hood."

Immediately the hood was jerked from my head, and I blinked as bright lights hit my eyes. I could make out a figure looming in front of me as my nostrils were assailed by the now-familiar odor of blood and roses. Coriolanus Snow.

"Welcome, Mr. Mellark," Snow said jovially. Gradually, he came into focus. I could see another, younger, man standing just behind him that I assumed was the one the he addressed as "Blackstone." Beyond the two men was a room that I easily recognized. It was Caesar Flickerman's sound stage.

"Hello, sir," I managed to croak. Snow frowned at the sound of my voice and he glanced to one side, gesturing impatiently at someone. Almost instantly a member of the stage crew appeared next to me and handed me a bottle of water. I took it and drank thirstily.

As soon as the bottle was drained a Peacekeeper plucked it from my hand. "Better?" Snow asked.

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Good. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable." Snow nodded at another Peacekeeper, who moved forward and unshackled my hands, and then immediately stretched out my right arm, forcing my fingers into loops and strapping my arm firmly to a wooden plank. The plank was then attached to the side of my chair. My right arm was now fully extended to one side, with my hand splayed wide open. The Peacekeeper then quickly strapped my left arm to the arm of the chair that I was sitting in.

"That's not necessary!" Johanna Mason said from behind me. She stepped into view, her face contorted in a mixture of anger and fear. "I told you I would cooperate!"

"No doubt you will, my dear," Snow purred. "However, in the event that you decide to not cooperate, I have Mr. Mellark here as an insurance policy." He turned back towards me. "I would much prefer to have Caesar Flickerman interview you, Mr. Mellark. You are much more articulate and persuasive than Miss Mason. However, you've displayed a remarkable ability to resist interrogation, and I doubt if you would be swayed by threats of physical harm to either Miss Mason or Miss Cresta."

"So Johanna says what you want her to say, or I get hurt?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain calm. No easy task, considering that my guts were once again churning with fear.

Snow nodded. "Crude, but necessary. And I am sure you will be a more effective deterrent than poor Miss Cresta. Unfortunately, she does not always have a firm grasp on reality, and would, more likely than not, be more apt to display confusion, rather than fear." Snow smiled unpleasantly. "You, on the other hand, are quite afraid, are you not? I can smell your fear, Mr. Mellark. And that's why your presence here will be much more effective."

"And if I scream?" I managed to ask. "Won't that ruin the audio feed?"

"Not at all," Snow replied. He signaled at the Peacekeeper standing next to me, who pulled a gag from his pocket and stepped behind me. I had just enough time to tense my neck and jaw muscles before the gag was slipped into my mouth and tied behind my head. Once it was in place I relaxed, and – yes! I could feel a little play in the strip of foul-tasting cloth. I had already decided on what I needed to do. I just hoped that my voice would be heard clearly enough.

"Mr. Mellark," Snow said in a remarkably gentle voice, "should it become necessary for us to use you as a coercion tool, please know that you may now scream as loudly as you wish."

Snow then turned and spoke quickly and quietly to Blackstone. The younger man nodded once before hurrying off. Johanna caught my eye and silently mouthed, "I'm sorry." I nodded in response, my mouth and tongue still working on the gag. I just needed to loosen it enough to shout a quick warning.

"President Snow?" Caesar Flickerman stepped forward, shooting me a quick - and, what seemed to me - apologetic glance. "Sir, we're ready."

"Ahh!" Snow rubbed his hands together. "Very well then. Mr. Flickerman, you may proceed."

I watched as Caesar Flickerman and Johanna Mason took their places on the stage. Tonight there was no studio audience, of course. Just the handful of people watching off-camera from the side of the stage. Technicians and make-up people buzzed around Caesar and Johanna, and, for a moment, it reminded me of the interviews that I had given as a Victor. Only now, the stakes were much higher.

I forced myself to remain calm. Once Caesar began to talk to the cameras, I had eight minutes before the bombs began to fall. But, in order for any warning to be effective, I had to be able to get it out long before then. I figured three minutes. I continued to work away at my gag, feeling it loosen a bit more…but still not enough.

"Good evening, Panem," Caesar's rich, soothing voice started the mental stopwatch inside my head. "Tonight, another interview with our favorite Victor-turned-antiwar activist, Johanna Mason. Johanna, how are you this evening?"

Johanna's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly in my direction. "Fine, Caesar. And yourself?"

I tuned out their opening banter and concentrated on the task at hand. By now there was no doubt that I would, eventually, be able to loosen the gag. The only question was…would it be in time? I was acutely aware of the Peacekeeper standing at my side and slightly behind me. I would only be able to shout a few words before he would react.

There! I felt the gag slip just a bit. I risked a glance at Snow, but he was focused on the interview. At one point, one of his bodyguards glanced over at me, and I froze, terrified that he noticed my loosened gag, but he turned away casually. I closed my eyes for a second, forcing myself to breathe deeply and slowly. He didn't notice anything.

I was ready. The gag was loose enough that I could push it free from my mouth with my tongue. I only hoped that my voice would be clear enough so that my words were understandable. My mental stopwatch was still running, and I knew that I had to be very near that three-minute mark, or even a little past it. Five minutes. Five minutes for the people of Thirteen to get to shelter. Five minutes to –

"Thirteen!" I shouted, and I could hear that my voice was _still_ muffled, still distorted, but I pressed on. "Incoming! COVER!"

My head suddenly exploded in pain and I was dimly aware of the sensation of my chair tipping over, of Snow shouting, "Cut it!", and Johanna screaming.

There was another explosion of pain inside my head, and then I wasn't aware of anything at all.

* * *

 _Katniss Everdeen sat in the mess hall, scarcely paying attention to the interview between Caesar Flickerman and Johanna Mason._ I'm not going to cry again, _she said to herself._ I need to be strong. Peeta would want me to be strong.

 _It was no use. Katniss could feel fresh tears welling up and she quickly pressed the heel of her left hand to her reddened eyes. Wordlessly, Haymitch Abernathy, sitting to her left, laid his hand on her shoulder, while Finnick Odair, sitting to her right, squeezed her right hand gently.  
_  
 _Katniss wished she could acknowledge her friends' compassion, but she was so emotionally spent that even a simple "thank you" was beyond her present capacity. She found herself wishing that the mess hall was its usual noisy self, with people angrily shouting at Johanna's pleas to disarm and stop fighting, but tonight it was stonily quiet, and any sobs that she allowed herself to make would be easily heard by all.  
_  
" _I don't care what Coin says," Finnick hissed at Haymitch. "Katniss doesn't need to be here right now!"  
_  
" _Mandatory viewin' Finn," Haymitch drawled softly. "It'll be over soon, and – "  
_  
" _THIRTEEN!"  
_  
 _Katniss sat bolt upright at the sound of the voice, her eyes widening in surprise. The voice had been muffled, and obviously didn't come from either Caesar or Johanna, and it was oh, so familiar. It could only belong to one person –  
_  
" _INCOMING! COVER!"  
_  
 _The sound of a scuffle, then a woman's scream, then the unmistakable voice of Coriolanus Snow angrily shouting, "Cut it!" The image on the video screen jerked wildly, briefly showing a view of the scaffolding and lighting rigs above the stage, and then abruptly disintegrated into static.  
_  
 _The mess hall erupted into chaos. Haymitch looked at Finnick. "Incoming?" Finnick looked grim and nodded.  
_  
" _That was a warning," Finnick snapped. At that moment, a siren began to wail as a mechanical voice began to repeat a recorded air raid drill message, ordering everyone to immediately evacuate to the shelters. Haymitch and Finnick immediately grabbed Katniss by the arms, only to find that her eyes were still glued to the static-filled video screen.  
_  
" _You're alive," she whispered. "You're alive!"  
_  
" _And we need to stay that way," Haymitch urged. "Come on, Sweetheart!"  
_  
 _Katniss allowed Haymitch and Finnick to pull her out of the mess hall, and to the emergency stairs, as the sirens continued to wail and the air raid message continued to play. Tears were flowing freely down her face, but these were not tears of despair, because she had just heard a voice that she had all but given up hope of ever hearing again.  
_  
 _The voice belonged to Peeta Mellark._

 _He was alive._

 _And, for the first time since he had disappeared, Katniss Everdeen smiled._


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

 **PART I**

My pain was everywhere.

My head throbbed with every beat of my heart. I could taste blood in my mouth and my tongue probed curiously at empty sockets, as though it's wondering what happened to the teeth that used to be there. Every breath that I took sent fire shooting through my chest, and I didn't even want to think about what it felt like when I coughed.

But the worst, by far, was my right arm and hand. I had no idea what they used to hit me with. All I knew was that my right arm has swelled to twice the size of my left, and my hand looked like one of those rubber gloves that Prim Everdeen would sometimes take from the hospital, blow up like a balloon, and use to try to amuse the patients.

It was a miracle that I am even still alive. I could only hope that the people in District Thirteen are still just as alive as I am.

I had no idea how much time had passed since I shouted my warning. The lights have remained on in my cell ever since I regained consciousness. Every so often an Avox orderly would come in, sponge off the feces and urine that I had been been laying in, and help me drink something. It's not just water that the Avox helped me to drink. It's thick and vaguely sweet. I had a feeling that something's been added to it, for nutrition perhaps. I sure as fuck couldn't eat anything in the shape that I'm in.

I tried to count the number of times that the Avox had come in to clean and feed me, but I lost track. It's not important, anyhow. At least I haven't been interrogated since being beaten nearly to death. Vaguely, I wondered why, and I'm not sure I liked the answer that I kept coming up with. They don't need me anymore, yet they didn't kill me outright and they are at least making some small attempt to keep me alive. Yet, they weren't going to any great lengths to treat my wounds, either. One answer kept popping up in my head.

President Snow was going to publicly execute me.

Katniss had to know that I'm alive…that is, if my warning was in time and she managed to get to safety. And Snow was all too aware of how much we mean to each other. My televised, brutal, bloody, public execution would all but destroy her mentally. My public death would effectively kill the Mockingjay as the living face and symbol of the Rebellion.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," I managed to whisper, the words sounding muffled and distorted coming out of my battered mouth. "I love you."

The physical pain I can bear. But the mental pain…I squeezed my eyes shut but the tears came anyway. Maybe there's a way that I can kill myself before Snow can turn me into a Katniss-destroying public spectacle. But even I know that would be impossible. I couldn't even feed myself. For that matter, I couldn't even use the toilet. I was totally helpless to do anything other than accept what Coriolanus Snow wants to do to me.

The Games go on. And I, apparently, have always been just another piece in their Games.

* * *

"Wake up."

The voice was strange, yet familiar, at the same time. I could feel a cool, damp cloth dabbing gently at my face. With effort, I forced my eyes open…well, one of them, anyway, as the other was still almost completely swollen shut…and focused on the face swimming above my own. I could see that it was a woman, dark-skinned, her black hair pulled back and away from her face. She had high cheekbones and, even in my current state, I could see that she was an attractive woman. Her dark eyes seemed to search my face as she examined me, her expression never changing. I felt that I knew her from someplace else, only the details escaped me.

"Good," she said, and, at that moment, I caught a glimpse of her teeth, filed into sharp points, and I finally made the connection.

Enobaria.

Involuntarily I shrank from her, although there was absolutely nowhere that I could go. Enobaria was a Career Victor from District Two, and a Capitol favorite. And District Two was the one district that the Capitol could count on for continued support. I remembered that Katniss would refer to District Two as the "Capitol's lapdogs," eager to please their masters, sucking up at every opportunity. It was no accident that the majority of the Peacekeepers originally came from District Two. And now one of their most feared Victors was an arm's reach away.

"Easy!" Enobaria barked. "Just relax," she added, her tone softening a bit. She dabbed lightly at my forehead with the damp cloth. "You'd be dead already if that's what I wanted."

"What," I managed to croak, "what are you doing here?" But, even as I asked the question, I already pretty much knew the answer. I remembered hearing, shortly after our arrival in District Thirteen, how some Career Victors had vanished from their districts, presumably in Capitol custody, for failing to immediately denounce the uprisings and, by extension, show their support for the Capitol.

"Being taught a lesson," she replied with a humorless chuckle. "You're the example, Mellark. 'This is what happens to Victors that turn traitor.' And Snow figures the best way to show us that is to run us through here to clean up your shit and piss."

"What do you mean, 'us?'" I asked.

Enobaria sighed as she lifted up my filthy hospital gown, and then got to work cleaning me up. "Me, Cashmere and Gloss from One, Cresta from Four, and Mason from Seven. All of us have been rotating through here." Another mirthless chuckle. "This is my third time. You were out the first two."

Enobaria finished her noisome task and lowered my gown. After first wiping her hands off, she then grabbed a plastic bottle, sealed except for a straw at one end, and, with surprising gentleness, lifted my head and guided the straw into my mouth. I drank greedily, until Enobaria pulled the straw from my mouth.

"That's enough for now," she murmured. "Otherwise, I'll be cleaning up your puke, too."

I looked up at her, noticing for the first time that she was wearing a simple orange prison jumpsuit. "Why wake me now?" I asked. "You said I was out the other times. Must have been out for the others as well."

Enobaria leaned forward, and for a moment I thought she was actually going to kiss me. "Thirteen is alive," she whispered, barely audible. "Looks like you playing hero paid off."

My elation at the news was tempered by the knowledge that my cell was surely bugged. "Is that why you woke me up, you bitch?" I snapped, as loudly as I could. "To torment me?"

Enobaria's eyes narrowed slightly at the insult, but then the corners of her mouth twitched up in a smile. "You outer district scum make me sick," she snarled. "You and that bitch Everdeen ruined everything!" She raised her hand as if to strike me, and my cell door instantly slid open. A pair of Peacekeepers charged in, grabbed Enobaria, and pulled her away from me roughly. She was still cursing at me as the Peacekeepers dragged her out of my cell and the door slammed shut behind her.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time, I finally had confirmation that Thirteen was okay. That meant that Katniss was alive. And that knowledge filled me with a combination of elation and dread. Elation at knowing for sure that Katniss was alive, and dread at the thought that Snow was, in fact, planning a gruesome execution for me.

I could only hope that Katniss would be spared from the ordeal of having to watch me die.

 **PART II**

" _How reliable is this intel?" President Alma Coin asked Plutarch Heavensbee._

" _One hundred percent," Heavensbee replied. "All of the Victors that Snow is holding are being confined here." He moved a pointer to a spot on the holographic map of the Capitol. "It's a detention complex known as the Citadel."_

" _We have to get him out," Katniss Everdeen said firmly. Heavensbee glanced over at the girl. She was sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, and a determined expression was on her face._

" _I agree," Coin added. "His warning gave us the time we needed to evacuate the upper levels. Casualties were minimal, thanks to Peeta Mellark." She turned to Colonel Boggs. "Give us an update on planning for the rescue mission."_

 _Boggs stood up slowly. "Darius Potter has been inside the Citadel. I'll let him brief that aspect of the operation."_

 _Darius also rose to his feet. "I'll be brief. The Citadel is impenetrable," he stated firmly. "Any assault on the complex itself would be a disaster. All that would accomplish would be to get a lot of the attackers, as well as all of the Victor POW's, killed."_

 _The conference room was deathly silent. "There is," Darius continued, "however, another way."_

 _He glanced back at Boggs. "Colonel?"_

" _I've spoken at length about this with Heavensbee," Boggs said. "A straight-on assault is out of the question. Like Lieutenant Potter said, it would accomplish exactly nothing." At this, Katniss looked at Darius in surprise. This was the first time she had heard him referred to as "Lieutenant."_

 _Coin leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers under her chin. "I assume that you have an alternate plan?"_

" _Yes, Madam President," Heavensbee said. "An inside job."_

 _Coin arched one eyebrow. "Please continue."_

" _I have an operative that can get Peeta and the others out, working from the inside," Heavensbee explained. "With luck, there won't be a single shot fired. All that will be required from District Thirteen is a stealth hovercraft and a small security detachment."_

" _We haven't worked out the fine details, President Coin," Boggs continued. "But a clandestine operation will have the greatest chance of success."_

" _Assuming, of course," Coin said dryly, "that Mr. Heavensbee's operative can actually deliver the prisoners."_

" _My operative is very highly placed in Snow's government, Madam President," Heavensbee replied stiffly. "And, I might add, that my operative must be extracted with the prisoners, or else face certain death."_

" _No need to be melodramatic, Mr. Heavensbee," Coin said. "Your operative will be included when we plan the extraction." She turned to face Katniss. "Of course, we will keep you updated with every facet of the operation."_

" _I want to go with the rescue team," Katniss declared emphatically._

 _Coin shook her head. "Out of the question. It's too great a risk."_

" _But – "_

" _Miss Everdeen," Coin said patiently. "You are too valuable to risk on such an endeavor. If we were to lose you – "_

" _Madam President," Heavensbee interjected, much to Coin's obvious annoyance, "perhaps it may not be such a bad idea to include Katniss. Think of the propaganda value. The Mockingjay rescues her lover, Peeta Mellark, from the confines of a notorious Capitol prison!"_

" _The risks would be minimal, Madam President," Boggs added. "The hovercraft is virtually invisible to Capitol radar, and it will land well outside the city itself. Once a security perimeter is established, the rescue team will have little to do other than wait for the prisoners to be delivered to them. Stealth is our greatest weapon here. If all goes well, the hovercraft will be halfway to Thirteen by the time anyone notices that the prisoners are missing."_

 _Coin tapped her lip with her finger thoughtfully. "Once the final plan is presented to me, I will make my decision as to Miss Everdeen's inclusion." She turned to Katniss. "Only if I am one hundred percent sure of your safety will I okay your participation. My decision at that time will be final and not subject to debate. Agreed?"_

 _Katniss nodded sullenly. "Agreed," she muttered._

 _Coin stood up. "We're adjourned, then, ladies and gentlemen. We have work to do."_

 _Boggs hung back for a moment as everyone filed out. As Plutarch Heavensbee brushed by him, Boggs grasped his arm firmly. "I need a moment," he said._

 _Heavensbee glanced at Boggs, then back to his assistant, Fulvia Cardew. "I'll catch up, Fulvia." Fulvia simply nodded and hurried off. When they were the last two in the conference room, Boggs quickly moved to each door, shutting and locking them securely, before he turned back to Heavensbee._

" _Take a seat," he said, motioning to the conference table. As Heavensbee sat, Boggs extracted a small box from an inner pocket and placed it carefully on the table between them before flicking a switch. A small red light appeared on the side of the box. Only then did Boggs turn to Heavensbee._

" _A white noise generator?" Heavensbee asked, gesturing to the box. "I'm surprised, Boggs. I didn't think you went in for the cloak and dagger routine."_

" _I'm a soldier, Plutarch," Boggs replied. "I'm also Chief of Security for Thirteen. I do what is necessary. And I don't want anyone else to hear this conversation."_

" _Noted," Heavensbee said. "So what's on your mind?"_

" _We have a traitor in our midst." Boggs stated without preamble._

 _If Heavensbee was surprised, he gave no indication. "I assume you have proof?"_

 _Boggs nodded. "The bombing attack targeted air defense missile batteries with surprising precision. These batteries are moved every three months for security reasons. Only Peeta Mellark's warning gave us enough time to withdraw our batteries to cover, so that our losses were minimal. Because we didn't return fire, the Capitol now thinks that they crippled our air defenses. But the Capitol bombers hit the battery locations with accuracy approaching ninety percent. And the only way they could have known that was from someone in Thirteen. Someone highly placed."_

" _Why tell me this?" Heavensbee asked. "Why not tell Coin?"_

" _I don't know where the leak is," Boggs admitted. "It may be someone privy to our planning meetings. But we have a definite mole working against us. And you need to know where I'm coming from so you can keep your Capitol operative in the loop."_

" _How do you know it's not me?" Heavensbee asked. "After all, I'm from the Capitol."_

" _It wouldn't be logical," Boggs explained patiently. "For the very reason that you_ are _from the Capitol. You came here willingly. You gave up a prestigious position and a life of luxury to help us bring the Capitol down. No, Plutarch. If anything, you would be the last person I would suspect."_

 _Heavensbee nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Okay, then. What do you propose?"_

" _We don't set a date for the extraction. Keep everything as open and uncommitted as possible. If we announce a date and time, sure as shit they'll be waiting for our hovercraft, and your operative will be scooped up as soon as he – or she – makes a move towards the prisoners."_

" _I thought the hovercraft was a stealth model," Heavensbee said._

" _It's invisible to radar," Boggs explained. "Infrared as well. But it's not invisible to the human eye. Eyes can still spot it quite easily if they know when to look for it."_

" _My operative can't just throw something together at the last minute," Heavensbee pointed out. "How much time can you give me?"_

" _Four hours," Boggs replied. "It's a four-hour flight to the Capitol at max velocity. Will that be enough time?"_

" _I'll check," Heavensbee said. He sighed. "I guess it'll probably have to be."_

" _Look, I don't like it either," Boggs said. "But I don't see where we have any other choice. And when we launch, I'll make sure that it looks like nothing more than a routine patrol flight. No one will be the wiser until they return from the mission. When will you be talking to your operative again?"_

" _Soon," Heavensbee replied with a smile. "Sorry, can't give you any more than that."_

 _Boggs found himself returning the other man's smile. "Good enough. Let me know how it goes." He reached over and picked up the white noise generator and turned it off. "Thanks for your time, Plutarch."_

" _My pleasure, Colonel. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do."_

" _Of course." Boggs watched Heavensbee leave the conference room and stared thoughtfully at the white noise generator._ We'll get the team back safely, _he thought._ But I still have a problem. There's a mole somewhere. And I need to find who it is.

 **PART III**

" _President Snow?"_

 _Coriolanus Snow looked up from the computer screen that was softly glowing on one corner of his desk._ District Six will just have to wait, _he said to himself. "What is it, Casca?"_

" _Sir, I was wondering if you required anything else this evening," Casca replied._

 _Snow rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully._ Yes, Casca, _he said to himself._ I need you to turn back time to Launch Day of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, so I can order Seneca Crane to make sure that Katniss Everdeen does not survive the bloodbath. _But what he actually said was, "No, thank you, Casca. I'm going to wrap it up for tonight. You may go."_

" _Yes, sir," Casca replied. "Thank you." Casca backed out of the room quickly and carefully shut the door behind him. He strode purposefully through the Presidential Palace, walking quickly to a set of ornate glass doors. A pair of uniformed Peacekeepers stood guard by these doors…alert, unmoving, their helmeted, visored heads continually scanning their surroundings. As Casca approached, one of the Peacekeepers reached out and opened the door._

" _I'll be back shortly," Casca announced as he stepped through the door and into the crisp mid-autumn evening air. "Walking the grounds."_

" _Yes, sir," the Peacekeeper holding the door open replied stiffly._

 _Casca moved quickly with an ease born of long practice. The grounds of the Presidential Palace were, of course, under constant electronic surveillance, but he always felt more secure using his own experienced senses to give the well-manicured acres one final inspection before he himself turned in for the night._

 _Not to mention the privacy that certain areas afforded._

 _No one would think twice about seeing a highly-placed member of Snow's personal bodyguard enter the Greenhouse. He was, after all, simply being thorough in his security sweep. And the Greenhouse, where President Snow grew his beloved white roses, was the only building on the grounds that wasn't bugged. Snow often used the Greenhouse for conversations of an especially sensitive nature, and such conversations were better left unrecorded._

 _As such, it was the perfect place for Casca to conduct his own private conversations._

 _Even so, Casca could feel his heart pound in his chest as he pulled a small rectangular object from an inner pocket. He pressed a small stud on one side of the object and slowly rotated in a full circle, holding the object at eye level. He nodded slightly in satisfaction and slipped the device back into his pocket, and then pulled a slightly larger device from a different pocket. There was no doubt as to the function of this device. It was a compact receiver-transmitter…in other words, a communications device. In simple terms, a two-way radio._

 _Casca pushed an earbud into each ear, examined a string of numbers on a softly glowing screen, and finally brought the radio to his mouth and depressed a key on the side of the device. "Groosling, Groosling, this is Jabberjay. Over."_

 _Casca listened intently for a few seconds before pressing the transmit key again. "Groosling, Groosling, this is Jabberjay…I say again, Jabberjay. Over!"_

" _Hello, Jabberjay," Plutarch Heavensbee's voice drawled softly through Casca's earbuds. "What do you have for me?"_

" _Peeta Mellark is scheduled for public execution one week from tonight," Casca replied bluntly._

* * *

 _Andromeda Snow sighed and looked up from her homework._ History is so boring, _she said to herself. Longingly, she eyed her phone, wishing she could call Speri. Homeschooled by a constant parade of tutors since the terrorist attack on her school, Andromeda rarely saw any of her friends anymore, and she missed Speri Blackstone most of all. And she was under strict orders from her grandfather…no Holo-TV or telephone during study time._

 _Andromeda rose from her chair, stretched, and ambled slowly to the window._ Twenty more minutes of evening study. Then I can call Speri. _The girls spoke just about every night, but hadn't actually seen each other since almost the time that Peeta Mellark had been first brought to the Capitol._ Everyone acts like it's some big secret that Peeta is here, but no one talks about it…least of all Grandpa. _Andromeda had toyed with the idea of casually mentioning to Grandpa that she knew about Peeta, but there was something that kept her from even bringing it up. And ever since that Holo-TV broadcast, when Peeta's strangled cry went out before the Capitol censors could cut it out –_

 _It was then that Andromeda spotted a figure moving across the lawn towards Grandpa's Greenhouse, and she quickly realized that it was just Casca, making his evening rounds. Andromeda liked Casca. He was quiet, dedicated to his job, and, most importantly, he didn't treat Andromeda like a child._ Plus, he _did_ save my life that time at school _, she thought._

 _Andromeda grinned. She had an idea. She would get Casca to drive her to Speri's tomorrow night! He would do it…she knew he would do it. But, she needed to go talk to Casca, and right now. Andromeda didn't hesitate a second longer. She quickly slipped her feet into a pair of sandals, grabbed a sweater against the evening chill, and headed straight downstairs, bound for the same exit that Casca himself had used just minutes before._

* * *

 _Andromeda paused at the door to the Greenhouse. She could barely make out Casca's imposing form, unmoving in the center of the profusion of roses that grew year-round, tended on a daily basis by her grandfather's loving hand. Right now, Andromeda was debating whether or not to enter, confused by Casca's actions…or the lack thereof._

How long does it take for him to check out the Greenhouse? _Andromeda hadn't seen Casca move since she had first spotted him, and curiosity was getting the better of her. And now, she could barely discern him holding something in front of his mouth, and she could have sworn that she saw his lips moving. That could only mean one thing. He was talking to someone…and that wasn't a phone that he was holding._

A radio! Casca has a radio! _Her original reason for seeking out Casca all but forgotten, Andromeda took a deep breath and pushed down on the latch holding the Greenhouse door closed._

 _The door swung open noiselessly. Andromeda thought that perhaps she should make some sort of small noise to alert Casca to her presence, but she realized that if Casca knew she was here, he would quickly put away the radio and she would probably never find out who he was talking to, let alone what he was talking about. That did it for Andromeda. She carefully tiptoed into the Greenhouse, sure that Casca could hear the thudding of her pounding heart._

 _Andromeda was barely breathing as she crept closer to Casca. Yes, it was definitely some sort of radio that he was holding. She could now make out earbuds inserted into both ears and she was finally close enough to catch snippets of his side of the conversation that he was having._

"– _need to launch your rescue no more than five days from today," Casca was saying urgently. "Snow's set the execution for one week from tonight." Casca paused as if listening to someone. "No._ You _listen. Five days at the outside. The sooner the better. You wait too long and security will be so tight around Peeta Mellark that a fly wouldn't be able to enter his cell without setting off alarms!"_

 _In spite of herself, Andromeda let out a gasp of dismay._ Peeta? Peeta Mellark? _My_ Peeta? _It all made sense to her now. Why her grandfather wouldn't acknowledge Peeta's presence in the Capitol._ He must have been planning this all along! _Fortunately, Casca didn't seem to notice the small noise that she made, because he kept on talking._

" _My people are ready," Casca continued. "You do whatever you have to do. I just need a few hours lead time." Casca listened intently, nodding every now and then. "One other thing. Mellark is a mess. Snow's goons really beat the shit out of him. You need to factor that into your plans. Moving him may be…difficult." Casca paused, and then said, "Copy, Groosling. Jabberjay out."_

 _It was at that exact moment that Andromeda made the decision that would forever change her life. She took a deep breath and spoke a single word._

" _Casca."_

 _Casca's back was still to her, the stiffening of his shoulders his only reaction. Slowly, calmly, he turned and faced her. Deliberately, he slipped his communications device back into his inner jacket pocket, while dipping his other hand into a pocket in the front of his trousers, his fingers closing over the handle of a switchblade knife._

" _Miss Andromeda," Casca said calmly. "It's dark, and it's late. You shouldn't be out here."_

" _You were talking to someone," Andromeda continued. "About Peeta Mellark."_

" _What makes you say that?" Casca asked._ Miss Andromeda, _he said to himself,_ I'm sorry. Truly I am. But getting Mellark out of Snow's hands is more important than you…or me.

" _Casca, I_ heard _you," Andromeda replied impatiently. She paused for a moment and bit her lip. "You said that Peeta Mellark was to be…was to be – "_

"– _executed," Casca finished her sentence with a resigned sigh. "Yes. Yes, I was talking to someone." He gripped the knife tightly._ A quick thrust at the base of the skull into the brain will do it, _he said to himself._ Death will be almost instant, and there will be very little blood. I just need to get her to turn around…

" _And you were talking to someone about rescuing him?" Andromeda continued, obviously upset by Casca's confirmation._

Keep calm, Casca, _he thought._ Keep calm, and she'll keep calm. _"It's rude to eavesdrop, Miss Andromeda. Let's go back to the house and I'll forget we ever spoke of this."_

" _No." Andromeda's firm reply startled Casca. "No, we'll talk about it. Right here and now."_

 _Casca palmed the knife and casually withdrew his hand from his pocket. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Miss Andromeda."_

" _The house is bugged," Andromeda explained, as if to a child. "There's not a room in the house that every word isn't recorded. We need to talk here. This is the only place on the grounds where private conversations stay private."_

" _You know about such things, Miss Andromeda?"_ Come on, turn around!

" _Speri and I come in here all the time…well, we did, anyway, until…you know," Andromeda replied softly. "This was the only place that we really could talk…you know?"_

" _Miss Andromeda –"_

" _So is it true?" Andromeda asked suddenly. "About Peeta?"_

" _It's true," Casca admitted._

" _In that case," Andromeda declared firmly, "I'm in."_

" _Miss Andromeda, I – wait,_ what _did you just say?"_

" _I'm in," Andromeda repeated. "I want to help you. To rescue him."_


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

 **PART I**

President Snow had finally relented and allowed doctors to treat my injuries. I don't know what motivated him more…a desire to have me be able to walk unaided to my execution, or some perverse desire to show all of Panem that I have been treated humanely before he made my death a public spectacle. It really didn't make much of a difference to me one way or another, though. I was just glad that I could sleep without pain of one sort or another constantly waking me up all night.

Not that I was sleeping very well anyway. It seemed almost criminal to waste any of my last couple hundred hours of life on sleep, when soon I will be put to sleep for all eternity.

The doctors had finished up with me earlier. Now one my "nurses" – I had begun to think of my fellow captive Victors as my own personal nursing staff – had come in to help me bathe. Although I was able to move around easier, I still needed help with even the most basic of tasks.

At least I was able to use the toilet without help. That in itself was a minor miracle.

My cell door slid open and my "nurse" for the day – Johanna Mason – entered my cell, carrying a stack of pre-moistened disposable towels. The last time I had seen her, she had been dressed elegantly in Capitol evening wear. Now she was attired like the other Victors that I had seen here, in an orange jumpsuit. I was happy to see that she was all right, as I hadn't seen her since the night that I shouted the warning to Thirteen. "All right, Handsome," she barked, affecting a gruffness that I knew she didn't really feel, "you know the drill. Shuck down."

Stripping was easy. All I was wearing was an open-backed hospital gown. Wincing a bit, I pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. I knew Johanna had brought a clean one for me to wear. She seemed unaffected by my nudity, unlike Annie Cresta, who was now a part of my "nursing staff," and had been very obviously embarrassed about having to bathe me. Nevertheless, this was the first time that Johanna would be doing more than simply sponging off my genitals and buttocks.

"Sit up," she commanded. "I'll do your back first. You can get the rest after I'm done." Her command was kind of redundant, as I was already sitting up, so instead I twisted around on the bed to give her easier access to my back.

Johanna began dabbing lightly at my back with one of the cold towels, acting as though she was afraid that she was hurting me. _It's my flogging scars,_ I said to myself. Looking over my shoulder, I said, "Johanna. It was over two years ago. They don't hurt anymore."

"That Peacekeeper did a number on you," she murmured as she began to scrub harder. "No wonder you have such a high tolerance for pain."

A brief picture of Katniss – giving me one of her rare happy smiles – flashed through my mind. "Not all the time," I managed to choke out.

Johanna didn't handle raw emotion very well, yet she bathed me as carefully as she would an infant. I found myself wishing that I had more time to really get to know her. Changing the subject, I said, as lightly as I could muster, "So what's new with everyone else?"

"Well," Johanna replied, her gratitude evident in her voice, "Annie's about the same. Sometimes she's almost lucid, then she'll go off on some tangent and do or say some weird shit." She paused and straightened up, then handed me a couple of towels. "Back's done. Here."

Awkwardly, and somewhat painfully, I began washing my chest, arms, and face. "How about the others?"

"Cashmere, Gloss, and Fang –" her special name for Enobaria "– still aren't playing nice with Snow. And that's where you come in, Handsome. You're the example that Snow wants to use."

"I figured," I murmured as I worked on my legs.

"Anyway," Johanna continued, "I'm betting that they will be more than happy to cooperate once you – I mean, in a week or so," she stammered.

"Johanna," I said gently, "I think it would help if you didn't tip-toe around it. I know what's supposed to happen."

I tossed the used towels onto the floor. Wordlessly, Johanna handed me a small, white towel, barely adequate to dry myself with, and took it from me to dry my back once I had dried the rest of me the best that I could. As she carefully dried my back, she leaned forward and put her lips near my ear.

"Make him pay," she whispered. I nodded. It had never been my intention to meekly submit to an execution. If I was going to die, then I wanted to die as a martyr for a Free Panem.

Plutarch Heavensbee couldn't have scripted it any better.

Johanna handed me my fresh gown and helped me get dressed, and then gathered up my soiled gown and the towels scattered on the floor. No sooner did she straighten up then the door to my cell slid open, and a waiting Peacekeeper impatiently beckoned her outside.

"I'm coming," she snapped, before turning back to face me. "Make him pay," she mouthed once more, and then disappeared through the door, which slid shut with a clang as soon as she was through.

Alone with my thoughts, I found myself wondering if I would ever see her again…and I desperately hoped that I would.

 **PART II**

 _Casca Bishop knocked softly on the open door to President Snow's private office. "Sir, I'm ready to leave."_

 _At first glance, President Snow had appeared to be deep in thought. Actually, he had been dozing, overcome by exhaustion from the months of overwork and stress caused by the Rebellion. Lately, it seemed that there had been one setback after another. District Eight had fallen. Ten was in Rebel hands. Six had started out as promising, but things were unraveling quickly there. Snow's only solace was the knowledge that the Loyalist forces had managed to capture a sizable number of trains, hovercraft, and ground vehicles before being forced into what Minister Blackstone called a "strategic withdrawal." And, of course, he had conceded Nine, on advice from his cabinet, confident that the Capitol's Strategic Reserves would give him the advantage that he needed so desperately._

 _Of course, nothing went according to plan._

 _District Four was, for all intents and purposes, a Rebel Victory. Twelve was gone. Thirteen had risen from its own ashes like some obscene Phoenix to once again threaten the peace and stability of Panem. Somehow, the Rebellion had managed to wrest control of fully half of Panem from the Capitol. From Coriolanus Snow personally._

 _Snow jerked awake at the sound of Casca's voice, blinking his eyes rapidly as he tried to focus on his trusted security agent. "Oh," he said thickly. "Very well, Casca. Do you remember my instructions?"_

 _Casca nodded. "Of course, sir. Drive to Minister Blackstone's, pick up the Order of Execution for Peeta Mellark, and deliver the order to the Director at the Central Correctional Facility. I am to leave the car at the Minister's residence and take public transportation, in the event that the Rebels have Central under surveillance."_

 _Snow nodded. "Excellent. We need to move rapidly on this, Casca. The Rebels must not be given any opportunity to disrupt the execution. And, in four days, I will send a message to all Panem that even the strongest among them are no match for the authority of the Capitol."_

 _Carefully, Casca kept his face frozen in an impassive mask. "Yes, sir. I will report to you once I return."_

 _Snow waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. "In the morning, Casca. In the morning." Slowly he stood, stretched, and glanced out the large window to his left. A flurry of snowflakes blew past the window. "The first snow of the season," he said with satisfaction. "This Rebellion will crumble with Peeta Mellark's death, and will have to fight the elements as well as my Peacekeepers. The New Year, Casca. This will all be over by the New Year."_

You're right, President Snow, _Casca said to himself._ It will be over by the New Year. Only not in the way that you think. _"I'm leaving now, sir. I will report to you in the morning." He paused for a moment. "Get some rest, President Snow. You need it, sir."_

" _I will, Casca," Snow replied. "Good night."_

" _Good night, sir," Casca said. He turned and walked away quickly, fearful that he would not be able to maintain his carefully crafted mask for much longer._ If he only knew, _Casca thought, as he made his way through the palace and quickly descended the stairs to the subterranean garage._

* * *

 _There was no one on duty in the garage at this hour. Casca had seen several people upstairs, of course…household staff, uniformed Peacekeepers on security detail, and a couple of minor government functionaries…but no one was needed down here, after hours. And that suited Casca just fine._

 _The car that he was taking was unmistakably part of the Presidential fleet, although by no means the largest. It didn't need to be, for Casca's mission was simple. But no Peacekeeper in their right mind would molest a car displaying the official Presidential seal._

 _Casca approached the vehicle casually, his eyes flitting around the garage as he did so. The security cameras would detect nothing out of the ordinary, even though his senses were on high alert. But there was nothing amiss in the garage. Casca slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove towards the inner door._

 _He slowed slightly as the door automatically opened, not waiting for the door to open completely before easing the car through. The exit ramp was a different story. It sloped up gradually to a second set of doors about fifty meters from the first. These were blast-resistant and took longer to open than the lighter, inner door. Casca punched a button on the dashboard, starting the opening sequence even before he was completely clear of the inner door. Still, he had to slow to a crawl to allow these armored doors to slide open far enough to let him drive through._

 _A gust of wind blew a light dusting of snow across the windshield as he made his way towards the East Gate. Just before rounding a bend, he slowed the car to the speed of a fast walk as he passed a tall stand of hedges. He caught a brief flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, heard the back door open and then slam shut, and felt the car shift slightly as its new passenger slid across the back seat and sat up._

" _Get down," Casca hissed. "And stay down until I tell you otherwise!"_

" _Sorry," Andromeda Snow muttered softly as she complied, laying down on the floor of the back seat._

" _Do you have it?" Casca muttered as the car approached the East Gate._

" _What do you think?" Andromeda replied sharply. "Of course I do!"_

" _Good," Casca said. "We're coming up on the East Gate. I'll tell you when it's safe to sit up and talk."_

 _Casca was convinced that the Peacekeepers at the gate would just_ know _that President Snow's only granddaughter was hiding on the floor of the back seat. His heart pounding, he slowed the sedan as he approached the gate and dimmed the headlights. The Peacekeepers snapped to attention and saluted as one activated the gate control. Casca raised his hand casually as the car rolled through the gate and out onto Victor's Boulevard._

 _Casca waited until the gate had disappeared from view in his mirror before he spoke again. "You can sit up now."_

 _Andromeda sat up immediately. "Put tomorrow's date on the movement order," Casca instructed._

 _Andromeda glanced sharply at Casca in the rear-view mirror as she pulled an envelope from an inner pocket of her jacket. "Tomorrow?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch._

" _Tomorrow," Casca confirmed, nodding. He caught her eye in the mirror. "It has to be tomorrow. After that, security will be so tight it would take a face to face order from your grandfather to countermand any written orders."_

 _Andromeda nodded as she pulled a table-top down from the seat to her front and smoothed out the paper that she had extracted from the envelope. Carefully she inked tomorrow's date on the movement order, carefully scrawling the initials "C.S." next to the date. When she was finished, Casca reached one hand behind his shoulder, never taking his eyes off of the road._

" _Let's see it." Andromeda passed the forgery up to Casca, who took it and carefully laid it on the empty passenger seat. At the next stop light, he picked up the order and scanned it quickly, nodding in satisfaction before laying it back on the seat again._

" _If I didn't know any better, I would say that your grandfather himself wrote and signed that order," Casca said admiringly as he pulled away from the stop light._

" _It comes in handy from time to time," Andromeda replied dryly, before adding, "It has to be tomorrow?"_

" _If you're getting cold feet, let me know now," Casca said, once again glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. "I can pull this off without you." What remained unspoken was his thought of,_ You'll just get in my way and slow me down.

" _No," Andromeda said firmly. "I said I was in and I meant it. Besides, don't you think every second of security cam video will be reviewed once Peeta and the others are rescued, and they find out that you were involved? They'll see me sneaking out of the house tonight through the kitchen disposal chute, and sneaking back in the same way…and they'll see the same thing tomorrow night, too. No, Casca. I have to go." She paused for a moment before adding softly, "I just thought I would be able to say goodbye."_

 _Casca almost slammed on the brakes of the car right then and there. "Miss Andromeda," he said carefully, "you cannot…you_ CANNOT _…say or do anything tomorrow out of the ordinary. You can't give any indication that anything about tomorrow is different than any other day." He paused and took a deep breath. "If you do, I will die. More importantly, Peeta Mellark will be dead three days later. Is that what you want?"_

 _Andromeda didn't respond. "Answer me!" Casca snapped. "Is…that…what…you…want?"_

" _No," she finally replied, her voice a near whisper._

" _Good," Casca said, as he turned down the drive towards the Blackstone residence. "Now get down." And, as Andromeda complied once more, he added, "and be quiet."_

 _The sedan was silent as they approached Minister Blackstone's residence, but Casca had already made a difficult decision._ If she falters tomorrow night, _he said to himself as the car came to a stop outside the Blackstone compound,_ I will have to kill her. As much as that would hurt me to do. But getting Mellark and the others out alive is more important than her life. Or mine.

 _But all he said as he exited the car was, "Stay down. This won't take long."_

* * *

 _Sperantia Blackstone sighed and tossed her phone onto her bed, staring at it in disgust. She had tried several times to call Meda, and had yet to get an answer. Things had been bad before the terrorist attack on the school, but now security was so tight that it sometimes felt to Speri that she was in some sort of plush, luxurious prison. She hardly ever saw her friend Andromeda anymore, and, as a result, eagerly looked forward to their nightly phone chats. And now, it seemed, she was going to be denied even that!_

 _She was debating whether or not to go downstairs to raid the kitchen (not that there would be anything worth raiding – what with mandatory rationing and all) when the sound of a car pulling up the drive caused her to pause. Speri snapped off her desk lamp and stepped to the window, peering out into the darkness. With her light off, she could easily see a dark sedan pull up next to the fence and cruise past the guard station before coming to a stop._

 _Speri frowned in confusion._ That's a car from the Presidential Fleet, _she thought._ Who's here? And why? _As Speri watched, Casca Bishop, President Snow's personal Security Chief, got out of the car, paused and bent forward into the car briefly before straightening up, and then closed the door behind him. Casca then walked quickly to the guard station, where he was buzzed in after a brief conversation with the Peacekeepers on duty there._

Here to see Dad, _she thought. Her curiosity satisfied, Speri about to turn away, but stopped when she noticed movement in the back of the car. At ground level she wouldn't have seen anything, but from her second floor window she could see into the car easily. And there was definitely someone in the back seat._

 _Her curiosity kicked into high gear when she saw that the sedan's mystery occupant was actually laying on the floor in the back seat._ Why would someone be hiding in the back seat? _For a moment, Speri toyed with the idea of alerting one of the Peacekeepers to the presence of a suspicious person lurking in the back seat of a Presidential Fleet sedan, but stopped herself._

Obviously, Casca Bishop knows about this mystery passenger, _Speri said to herself. She could now hear noises from the first floor and recognized Casca Bishop's voice._ And whatever his business is here, it wouldn't take long. _Speri made a snap decision. Grabbing up a long, hooded coat against the chill night, she slipped it on and made her way quickly to the service stairs at the end of the hall, normally only used by household staff, and took them two at a time to the first floor. The stairs led to the pantry, just off the kitchen, in the back of the residence. Perfect for what she had in mind._

 _Speri paused at the entrance to the kitchen until she was satisfied that no one was there, before she slipped into the darkened room and expertly made her way by touch to the windows over the large double sink. Effortlessly she hopped onto the counter and slid open the window, popping through the narrow opening with ease. Carefully, she slid the window shut, slipping a small scrap of paper into the latch so that the window wouldn't lock, and dropped to the ground just below the window._

 _Sperantia Blackstone was a teenage girl, after all, and was no stranger to sneaking in and out of her parents' home…even if Dad_ was _the Minister of Security for all Panem._

 _It was a short distance to the fence, which was armed with sensors that would sound an alarm should anyone should try to climb over it. But Speri had a way around that as well. The branches of a live oak jutted over the fence and intertwined with the branches of an old pine tree on the other side. It was the single weakness of the security system, but the Peacekeepers weren't overly concerned. Their reasoning was that if anyone made it past the fence, they would have to deal with the guard dogs that were constantly on duty. It was sound thinking…except when dealing with a teenage girl that made it a point to befriend each and every dog patrolling the grounds of the Minister's Residence._

 _The dogs never made a sound as Speri quickly scaled the live oak, shimmied along the overhanging branch, and just as quickly climbed down the pine tree, dropping with a soft thud to the sidewalk below._

 _She paused to catch her breath and pulled the hood of her coat over her head, both to keep off the snow and to conceal her face, before she moved quickly around the corner and spotted the Presidential Fleet car a short walk away. She grinned to herself and jammed her hands in her pockets._ I'll just walk by and see if I can tell who's in the back seat, _she said to herself…then froze when she saw Casca Bishop emerge from the guard station and walk quickly back to the car._

 _Speri melted back in the shadows, hoping that he hadn't spotted her._ Shit! Now he'll leave and I'll _never_ know who was in that car with him. _But Casca didn't climb into the car, but instead he opened the back door and gestured impatiently at the mystery passenger in the back seat. Speri, hidden by the shadows, grinned._ Now I'll see who it is, _she thought, as she watched the passenger climb out of the car. Even at a distance, Speri could see that it was a woman…or a girl…clad much in the same way as Speri herself, with a long, hooded coat. But, unlike Speri, the passenger's hood was hanging down her back as she got out, and for a single, brief instant, her face was illuminated by the dim light from inside the car…and Speri let out a gasp of astonishment._

 _The mystery passenger was none other than Speri's best friend, Andromeda Snow._

* * *

 _Andromeda Snow lay on the floor of the sedan, lost in her own thoughts._ Tomorrow. It was tomorrow! _The realization of what she was about to do…what she had already, in fact,_ done _...weighed heavily on her. Words like "treason" really didn't have any meaning for her. But the word "betrayal" did. And what she was about to do would betray her grandfather…the only person in the world that she was sure she loved._

 _Andromeda knew that Grandpa had done some horrible things, and continued to do horrible things. People were afraid of him…for that matter, she herself had felt fear a few times. But no one else ever saw the Grandpa that she saw – the man that sat up with her all night that time four years ago when she was so sick, or the man that helped her dig a grave for her beloved cat when she was eight years old, and ever so gently laid her cat to rest in that special place in his very own greenhouse._

 _Andromeda had a special bond with her grandfather…one that she didn't have with her own parents, even though they all lived in the Presidential Palace together. For all the actual parenting that they did, they might as well be her siblings instead of her mother and father. Grandpa was the one that actually raised her…and he was one of two people that she would dearly miss._

 _The other was Sperantia Blackstone, her best friend. Even though Speri was a die-hard loyalist, she was the one person that Andromeda had always felt that she could talk to about anything. Except, of course, what she was doing right now._

 _Thinking about Grandpa and Speri was having an effect on Andromeda, and for the tenth time since Casca had picked her up, she found herself having second thoughts. That is, until Casca jerked the back door open, causing Andromeda to jump in surprise._

" _Come on," Casca said gruffly. "One more stop then we go home."_

 _Awkwardly, Andromeda climbed out of the back seat, hoping that Casca couldn't see her wet eyes. "What?" she asked as she straightened up. "Where? And why do I have to go?"_

" _Remember what I told you before, about asking too many questions?" Casca asked._

 _Andromeda nodded. "Good. Don't ask." He closed the back door of the sedan and carefully locked the car. "And pull your hood up. I doubt if anyone will recognize you but why take chances?"_

 _Wordlessly, Andromeda pulled her hood up. "That's better," Casca said gruffly. "Come on."_

 _Together, the pair quickly crossed the street and made their way purposefully towards the monorail station three blocks away. Neither of them noticed that they were being followed…at least, not at first._

 _Casca picked up the tail after about a block._ Well, well, well, _he said to himself._ The Rebels continue to surprise me. I really didn't expect a tail…in fact, I would have thought that Heavensbee would have gotten the word out to stay away. _For a moment, Casca considered trying to give the tail the slip._ No matter. As long as he…or she…kept their distance and didn't interfere.

" _What's wrong?" Andromeda asked as they entered the monorail station._

" _Nothing," Casca replied gruffly, as he fed coins to an automated ticket kiosk. He quickly entered their destination and impatiently tore off the pair of tickets that emerged from the kiosk._

" _Come on," he ordered, as he handed one of the tickets to Andromeda. "We're cutting it close. We need to hurry."_

 _By now, Andromeda knew better than to ask questions. Wordlessly she fell in beside Casca and together they hurried to the platform. Andromeda had trouble matching Casca's long strides and was forced to almost run, but she found herself strangely exhilarated. For the first time in her sheltered life she was doing something exciting and, at the same time, forbidden. She had never ridden the monorail before tonight._

 _The platform was almost deserted when they arrived. Andromeda noticed just one other person – a woman, or girl, dressed in a hooded coat much like the one Andromeda herself was wearing – but she slunk back into the shadows when Andromeda turned and noticed her. And, in spite of just the quick glimpse that Andromeda got, there was something vaguely familiar about the mysterious hooded figure._

 _Casca made a soft noise of disgust, drawing Andromeda's attention back to him. When she looked up at him he was shaking his head very slightly, and Andromeda realized that he, too, noticed the hooded stranger._

" _Amateurs," he grumbled quietly. The scrolling marquee that hung over their heads chimed softly, announcing the arrival of a monorail train. Casca glanced up and quickly read the destination as the train glided into the station, almost silent as it rode its magnetic cushion. The train came to a smooth stop and the doors sighed open._

" _Come on," Casca said, his hand on Andromeda's shoulder as he guided her onto the train. The car was nearly deserted and Andromeda slid into a nearby seat. Casca, still standing, glanced over his shoulder and saw, through the windows, their mystery tail dart out from the shadows and head for another car on the train. And, as the doors whispered shut and the train began to move, Casca settled into the seat next to Andromeda, a slight frown creasing his forehead._

Plutarch Heavensbee is definitely going to get an earful from me, _he said to himself._ Not calling off his other spies was downright stupid!

* * *

 _Sperantia Blackstone watched as her friend Andromeda Snow, accompanied by the big Presidential Security Agent, Casca Bishop, disappeared into the monorail station. Speri hesitated, waiting a few moments, and then trotted across the street and followed the pair into the station. They were already out of sight as Speri made her way quickly to the turnstiles, completely ignoring the ticket kiosk._

 _Unlike Andromeda, Speri was no stranger to the Capitol Monorail Network. Normally she would use a universal access pass – a completely illegal, reusable ticket…her more unsavory friends called it a "slug," for some reason…that would allow her to board whatever train she chose, without paying - but she hadn't thought to grab it when she hurried out of the house. No matter. Placing her hands on the turnstile, she vaulted over it with ease, keeping her head down as she cleared the bar and landed nimbly on the other side. She ignored the flashing red light and insistent beeping that her actions had triggered. The security cam photos would only show a hooded girl jumping the turnstile. Peacekeepers wouldn't even bother reviewing the images until morning._

 _Speri didn't waste any time, practically running to the platform. As she rounded the corner she could see that the platform was practically deserted except for two people…her friend Meda and Casca, the big bodyguard. Speri stopped short and immediately retreated back into the shadows when Meda turned and looked in her direction. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the unlikely pair, convinced that Meda had recognized her, but her friend simply turned back toward the monorail track._

I wonder where they're going? _Speri watched the unlikely pair closely, but neither of them seemed to realize that they were being watched. A moment later she had her answer. The soft chime of an inbound train caused her to look up at the marquee where the train's next stop was scrolling past._

 **NEXT STOP – URBAN ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT – ETA 5 MINUTES**

 _Speri frowned._ Why would they be going there? _The Urban Administrative District was a collection of office buildings dedicated to the smooth operation of the Capitol. That, plus the main Peacekeepers station, and the Central Detention Facility. That's it. Unless –_

 _Sperantia Blackstone knew that the traitor Peeta Mellark was being held at Central. She also knew that her father had given Casca Bishop the Order of Execution for Peeta Mellark, to be delivered to the administration at Central. But that didn't explain why Meda had gone with Casca, or why Casca had chosen to take the monorail instead of simply driving there himself. Speri had questions, and she was determined to get her answers._

 _Speri waited until after Casca and Meda had boarded the train before she, herself, made a dash for the car at the end of the train, several cars behind the one occupied by Casca and Meda. There, she settled into a seat for the short ride, her face set into a mask of determination._

 _Sperantia Blackstone wanted answers, and she was going to get them._

* * *

 _Andromeda Snow hung back as Casca Bishop spoke with a uniformed Peacekeeper at the front desk. The conversation was short. Andromeda made sure to keep her jacket hood pulled up and to not look directly at anyone…not that there was anyone else in the lobby of the Central Detention Facility at this time of night anyway._

" _Who's the girl?" the Peacekeeper asked as he examined the documents that Casca had handed him._

" _My daughter," Casca lied smoothly. "Had to take her with me. Her mother had to work this evening, and I don't like leaving her home alone at night."_

" _Hmmph," the Peacekeeper grunted. He looked up. "Come on around. The Director has been waiting for these."_

 _The Peacekeeper pressed a button under the counter. There was a loud buzzing sound, followed by a dull clunking noise as the door next to the counter unlocked. Casca pulled the door open, paused, and turned back to Andromeda before going through the door._

" _Wait here," he ordered, and then he was gone, the door shutting with a loud thump._

 _Andromeda sat and stared at the floor, fidgeting nervously. She didn't have long to wait. Casca reemerged less than three minutes later. He gestured to her as he quickly walked across the gleaming lobby floor. "Come on."_

 _The snow was falling heavier as they exited Central. Once they reached the sidewalk, Casca paused and looked around quickly before taking Andromeda's arm and turning to the left._ No sign of our tail, _he said to himself as he and Andromeda began the short walk back to the monorail station._

" _Tomorrow night, remember," he said quietly as their shoes crunched through the light dusting of snow on the sidewalk._

 _Andromeda took a deep breath. "I'll be ready."_

 _Neither of them noticed Sperantia Blackstone, concealed by shadows as she stood in a doorway across the street. They didn't see her, but she saw them. And she could hear their voices quite clearly, in spite of their low tones and the muting effect of the snow._

 _Speri stood in the doorway, shivering slightly from the cold, and waited until both Meda and Casca were out of her sight before she stepped out and pulled her phone from her pocket. She pressed a single button on the phone, summoning an auto-cab. There was no need for her to make her way back to the monorail station. She would have the auto-cab – a small, driverless, automated electric vehicle – drop her off a block away from her home. It wasn't a perfect solution, of course – there would be a record of her fare, and of her payment by phone. But Speri had a nagging feeling that her friend Andromeda was up to no good, and, if her suspicions were correct, the last thing that she would have to worry about was getting in trouble for sneaking out of the house._

"Tomorrow night," Casca had said. "I'll be ready," Meda had replied. _Somehow, Speri knew that Meda's infatuation with the traitor Peeta Mellark, as well as Meda's increasingly sympathetic views towards the Rebel cause, were behind both cryptic statements. Speri was convinced that Meda and Casca were planning something for the next night. Something that had to do with the traitor Peeta Mellark. And Speri knew that she had to stop them. She had to stop her best friend from crossing that invisible line between Loyalist and traitor._

It's for your own good, Meda, _Speri said to herself as the auto-cab took her home._ I'll not let my best friend become a traitor. _She could care less about Casca Bishop. Let him take the fall for this. Sperantia Blackstone would be a hero, and she would end up saving her best friend's life at the same time._

 _Tomorrow night, when Casca and Meda returned to the Central Detention Facility, Sperantia Blackstone would be waiting for them._

 **PART III**

 _Katniss Everdeen was listlessly picking at the remains of her breakfast when Jackson found her._

" _That good, huh?" Jackson asked as she slid into a chair opposite Katniss._

" _Hmmph." Katniss grunted and tossed her fork onto the tray with a metallic clatter. She looked up from the table and stared balefully at Jackson. "What do you want? Here to take me to yet another stupid fucking meeting with Coin and the rest?"_

 _Jackson leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I was ordered to get you, yes," she replied. "But there's no meeting in Command." She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Where's your bow?" she asked quietly._

" _In my quarters, where it should –" Katniss's voice trailed off and her eyes widened as she stared back at Jackson. "Jackson, is it on?"_

 _Jackson grinned. "I'm here to escort you to your quarters for your bow, battle kit, and Mockingjay uniform," she explained. "From there, we go to the South Hangar." Her voice dropped. "You are to say nothing to your mother or sister. You are to talk to no one. Coin just approved your participation, after some masterful triple-teaming by Boggs, Heavensbee, and Abernathy." She paused. "Plutarch says it will be the best propo yet. Yes, it's on."_

 _Katniss shoved herself away from the table and stood up. "Let's go."_

 _Jackson stood up and gestured to the door. "After you."_

 _It was a short trip to Katniss's quarters, where Katniss paused just long enough to grab what she needed. All the while, her sister's cat, Buttercup, watched her every move. Just before she and Jackson left the small apartment, Katniss leaned down, scratched Buttercup behind the ear, and whispered, "I'm going to get him."_

 _When she straightened up, Jackson was watching her with a grin on her face. "I had to tell_ someone _," Katniss said defensively, feeling the back of her neck and face burn with embarrassment._

" _I'm sure he'll keep his mouth shut," Jackson replied wryly. "Come on."_

 _After that, Katniss said nothing to anyone on the walk to the South Hangar. In fact, the only other person that she and Jackson ran in to was an environmental maintenance technician who shared their elevator while on his way to a job repairing an atmospheric filter that had been damaged during the Capitol's bombing raid. He nodded politely as the officer and the Mockingjay boarded the elevator, slightly cowed to be in such close proximity to the legendary Katniss Everdeen herself._

 _Later on, as he worked on his job, he reflected that he had never seen the Mockingjay smile as much as she had smiled on that short elevator ride._


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

 **PART I**

 _Katniss Everdeen sat on the webbed jump seat, nervously chewing on her thumbnail and choked down the bile that rose up in her throat with every sudden dip of the hovercraft. The ride was not just bumpy…it was downright nauseating. Seated across from her, Pollux had his face buried in a tan-colored bag, while his brother Castor awkwardly rubbed his back. Pollux wasn't the only one that was airsick. Glancing up and down the length of the hovercraft, Katniss could see fully half of the passengers in various stages of distress, and silently congratulated herself on being able to control her own abused stomach._

 _So far, anyway._

 _To take her mind off of her airsickness, Katniss clumsily turned in her seat and looked out of a nearby window, watching the ground slip past as they sped through the air. They had been in the mountains now for well over an hour, and the hovercraft pilot was hugging the contours of the earth as closely as she dared. It was darkening quickly outside, which suited Katniss just fine. There wasn't much to look at, anyway…just a snow-covered expanse of mountainous forest, with absolutely no sign of the works of humans for as far as the eye could see._

" _How're you holding up?" Katniss glanced up at the sound of the voice to see Colonel Boggs looming over her. He seemed totally unaffected by the wild, stomach-churning flight, although Katniss didn't fail to notice that one hand tightly gripped a nylon handhold, while the other held a tan air-sickness bag, identical to the one that Pollux was busy filling._

 _Katniss shrugged and forced a small smile. "Okay so far. Not puking…yet, anyway._

 _Boggs extending his hand holding the air-sickness bag. "'Yet' is the operative word. Here."_

 _Katniss didn't argue. She took the bag and tucked it between her leg and the seat. "Thanks."_

" _Anytime, Soldier," Boggs replied with a grin._

 _Another sudden lurch of the hovercraft caused Boggs to stumble and he gripped the handhold with both hands to avoid falling into Katniss's lap. Katniss turned and looked out the window once more. "Where are we?" she asked._

" _Over the Wilds," Boggs said. "No known human habitation this far north. Out-district tribes, maybe, but that's it." He pointed out the window as they flew past a jagged, rocky peak. "We're in the same mountain range that the Capitol is in. Pilot tells me we're right on schedule. About another two hours to the pick-up zone. It'll be near dark by then."_

" _The Wilds," Katniss repeated softly. They weren't even over Panem anymore. The Wilds had always been an almost mythical place north of Panem. A place of perpetual desolation where people couldn't even live, except maybe out-district tribes like Boggs had said. "Is it a good idea, to fly so far north?" Katniss asked._

" _Too great a risk to try to thread the needle and fly over inter-district territories," Boggs explained, adding dryly, "especially as there's a little war going on down there. And, with us doing most of this trip in daylight…well, we didn't feel the risk was justified." He patted her on her shoulder. "Relax, Katniss. We've been over the Wilds for practically the entire flight."_

 _Katniss swallowed again as another wave of nausea swept over her. "I thought this was a stealth hovercraft," she managed to choke out._

 _Boggs nodded. "It is. Invisible to radar, laser detection, infrared…but_ not _to the standard issue mark one eyeball." He slipped into the seat next to Katniss as she suddenly snapped the air-sickness bag open. "If it makes you feel any better, we'll be back over Panem in about thirty minutes and you'll be able to see some of District Seven before it gets too dark."_

 _Katniss's mouth suddenly filled with saliva and she swallowed heavily. "Oh,_ fuck _," were the only words she was able to get out before she plastered her mouth over the opening of the air-sickness bag and the contents of her tortured stomach burst forth._

 _She hardly noticed that, while she choked and retched, Boggs held her forehead in one hand, and her long, dark braid in the other._

* * *

Listlessly, I pushed the remains of my lunch around on the soggy paper tray. The food in the prison was as bland as anything I had eaten in District Thirteen. I wasn't sure if it was because of the shortages that I had overheard the Peacekeepers talking about, or if the prisoners were routinely fed barely-edible slop.

The doctors had been by earlier and had been pleased with the progress of my healing. It made me wonder if they even knew that I was being prepared to be executed as part of a very public spectacle. If they knew, they hid their knowledge very well.

My cell door slid open and an Avox orderly walked in to collect the remains of my lunch. I didn't recognize this one – an older man whose short black hair was graying at the temples. As I watched him work I wondered idly what his crime had been, to be sentenced to a lifetime of silent servitude.

The Avox finished his task and quickly departed. The door remained open. Puzzled, I looked out the door from my perch on my bunk, as I wondered why the door wasn't immediately slammed shut and locked. I didn't have to wonder for long, however, as a new visitor soon graced me with her presence.

"How was lunch, Hero?" Cashmere asked as she tossed a change of clothes and a package of moistened wipes onto my bed. It didn't escape my notice that I was being given an orange prison jumpsuit, identical to the one that Cashmere was wearing, instead of a new hospital gown.

"Forgettable," I muttered as I sat up and stripped the gown off and tossed it onto the floor.

Cashmere chuckled humorlessly as she bent to the task of washing my back. "Well," she said as she worked, "it may interest you to know that we get whatever you get. And I agree. Definitely not what us 'Victors' are accustomed to, eh?"

My back finished, Cashmere straightened up and waited for me to finish doing the rest. "I prefer simple to exotic," I replied after a moment, as I washed my legs and arms. "Capitol cuisine never set with me very well."

Cashmere snorted softly. "That's the problem with you lower districts. You have no appreciation for the finer things in life." She sighed. "Take your little 'Mockingjay,' for instance."

My eyes narrowed and I paused for a moment while pulling the coverall on. "What's Katniss got to do with what I like and don't like?" I all but snarled.

Cashmere shook her head sadly. "You could've had your pick of the tastiest Capitol girls during your Tour, Hero. But no. You pine away for _her_." Cashmere practically spit the last word. "Tell me…was she worth it?"

Angrily, I jammed my arms into the sleeves of the coverall. "Fuck you," I snapped as I zipped up the front.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Cashmere smirked. "Seriously, though…she did all us veterans a favor. She was in such high demand with certain members of Capitol high society that she took the pressure off of people like my brother and I." She shook her head again. "They always liked the young, fresh ones…at least for a while."

I was finished dressing. Painfully, I hauled myself to my feet, gathered up my soiled hospital gown and used wipes, wadded them up in a ball, and threw them at Cashmere. "Here," I spit. "You're done. You can leave now."

Cashmere caught the bundle easily. "Now, now," she purred, "don't take it personally, Hero." She smiled and added, "After all, in a few days your troubles will be all over." She paused before adding, "By the way, this will be your last cleanup. You aren't a patient anymore…but I guess you figured that one out yourself."

"Then answer me this," I said. "We're both Victors. You're in here, same as me. Why the shitty treatment?"

"Because," Cashmere replied flatly, "you and Everdeen fucked everything up for us all. Just had to go and play hero, didn't you?" Bitterness crept into her voice. "You ever stop to think that maybe not everyone wanted to be 'saved?'"

"There's more to Panem than District One and the Capitol," I pointed out. "And, from what I saw, everyone was more than happy to have a chance to live free. Speaking of which –" I pointed at her own orange jumpsuit "– Who did you piss off?"

Cashmere didn't answer. Instead, she spun on her heel and stormed out of my cell. Immediately, the door slammed shut with a resounding clang. I sighed again and leaned back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I knew that one thing was certain.

If looks could kill, I'd be a dead man right now.

 **PART II**

" _You've been awfully quiet tonight, my dear," Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem, remarked to his granddaughter during dinner._

 _Andromeda Snow hesitated for a moment before she spoke. "I'm just…a little tired, Grandpa," she replied quietly._ Does he know? Does he suspect? Can he see it in my face? _Andromeda's mind was full of thoughts like this, and for the hundredth time today she had second thoughts about assisting Casca Bishop with the rescue of Peeta Mellark. She knew that her grandfather would be very angry with her for helping free Peeta…but she also knew that someday he would forgive her completely. He could never stay angry with her for long._

 _But, Snow gave no indication of suspicion or awareness of his granddaughter's intentions. He smiled fondly at the girl. "I know things have been difficult of late, Andromeda," he said gently. "I have an idea," he added. "Once all this disagreeable business with the districts is settled, we'll take a vacation. To anyplace you want. Perhaps the beaches in District Four. Your father and mother as well. I've been working them very hard and they will need a break also. Even your friend Sperantia, if you wish. How does that sound?"_

" _That sounds…wonderful," Andromeda whispered. Quickly, she looked down at her plate and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks._ I have to do this! Peeta doesn't deserve to die. _Without looking up, she asked, "May I be excused? I'm not feeling well."_

" _Shall I call my doctor?" Snow asked, concern in his voice._

" _No!" Andromeda replied sharply. "I mean, no, Grandpa," she said, fighting to keep her voice normal. "I…I just need to finish my homework and go to bed."_

 _Snow carefully set down his knife and fork on his plate, and then leaned back in his chair. "Very well, Andromeda," he said finally. "You are excused. Perhaps all you need is a good night's sleep."_

" _Thank you, Grandpa," Andromeda said as she rose from her chair. She turned away, paused, and then turned back. She wrapped her arms tightly around Snow's neck and kissed his bearded cheek, inhaling the familiar fragrance of roses. "Goodnight, Grandpa. I love you."_

" _I love you too, my dear," Snow murmured, surprised at Andromeda's sudden display of emotion. He patted her awkwardly on her back before she pulled away and left the dining room without a backward glance._

 _Snow watched his granddaughter leave, shaking his head slightly. "Teenage girls," he muttered as he pushed his dinner plate away. "First, Johanna Mason, then Annie Cresta, Katniss Everdeen, and now my own granddaughter. I'll never figure them out."_

 _Snow sighed heavily and slowly rose from the table. Absently, he tossed his napkin onto his plate. He strode from the dining room and headed for his private office._

 _Teenage girls aside, he still had a country to run…and a war to win._

* * *

 _The sound of her phone ringing caused Andromeda Snow to jump in surprise._

 _Of course, at this point, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Every noise caused her heart to race and her eyes to flit fearfully to the source. She had just glanced at her clock when the phone had started to ring. She had to leave in ten minutes – or not at all._

 _Trying to still her thumping heart, Andromeda reached out with one trembling hand and picked up the phone. She relaxed a little when she saw who the caller was, and tapped the screen to accept the call._

" _Hello, Speri," Andromeda said lightly. "What's up?"_

" _Nothing much," Sperantia Blackstone's voice came over the earpiece. "Just finished with homework. Thought I would give you a call. What's up with you, Meda?"_

 _Andromeda frowned when she noticed the slight emphasis that Speri had put on the word "you." Keeping her voice even and light, she said, "Oh, nothing. I was thinking about watching something on the Holo."_

" _Oh?" Speri's voice had taken on an edge. To Andromeda it sounded like she was upset about something. "Anything good?"_

" _I haven't checked yet," Andromeda replied. She glanced nervously at the clock. Eight minutes. "Hey, guess what? I was talking with Grandpa at dinner and he said that he was taking me on a beach vacation to District Four after all this uprising stuff was settled, and he said that you could come too!"_

" _Awesome." Now Andromeda was certain that something was wrong. Normally Speri would be ecstatic over news like that. But, from the tone of her voice, she sounded like she could care less._

 _In spite of the time, Andromeda knew she had to ask Speri the question. After all, Speri was her oldest, closest friend. "Speri, is anything wrong?"_

" _No." Speri practically spit the word. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"_

" _You sound strange," Andromeda replied. Six minutes now. Andromeda shook her head. Casca would just have to wait. Speri was just as important to her as Peeta Mellark._

" _I'm fine," Speri said. "Look, I won't keep you. Let's get together real soon, okay, Meda?"_

 _Andromeda relaxed slightly. Speri's voice seemed to have returned to normal. "That…that sounds great, Speri," she said, her voice catching slightly in her throat. Andromeda knew that she probably would never see Speri again._ Don't cry, _she told herself fiercely._ Don't cry!

" _Yeah, it does," Speri said. "I'll talk to you later. See you soon, Meda!"_

" _Okay, Speri," Andromeda replied as lightly as she could. "See you later. Bye for now."_

 _Andromeda quickly hung up her phone and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. She took a deep breath and opened her bedroom door. It was time. She had to leave now. Andromeda took one last, lingering look around the room that she had known all her life, before reaching out and deliberately flicking off the bedroom light._

 _Andromeda shut the door firmly behind her and paused briefly to pat her pockets, feeling the reassuring weight of the few possessions that she had chosen to take with her. Satisfied, she began to make her careful way to the kitchen, taking some small solace in the fact that she had been able to say goodbye to both her grandfather and her best friend._

 _Andromeda just hoped that they would both someday be able to understand – and to forgive her for what she was about to do._

* * *

 _Sperantia Blackstone hung up her phone after talking with her friend Andromeda, but she didn't put it down. Instead, she ordered an auto-cab to pick her up at the end of the street in fifteen minutes._

 _Speri wasn't fooled by Meda's nonchalant tone when they talked. She's known Meda her whole life, and she could tell that her friend was anxious about something. Well, Speri knew what had Meda so worried, and she was bound and determined to stop her friend from becoming a traitor. She couldn't care less about that traitorous Casca Bishop, but tonight Sperantia Blackstone was going to enter the history books of Panem as the greatest hero since the Dark Days._

 _She was going to stop a traitor from escaping justice – and she was going to save her friend at the same time._

 _Speri smiled as she turned off her bedroom light and shut the door behind her. By this time tomorrow, everyone in Panem would know her name._

* * *

 _Andromeda waited in the same place as the previous night, shivering with the cold. The snow had stopped in the morning, and the skies had cleared, which meant that what heat had been trapped by the ground during the day had radiated right back into the night sky as soon as the sun set. She nervously checked the clock on her phone, sure that she had missed Casca, and was reassured when she saw that she was two minutes ahead of schedule._

 _Or was she? As soon as she put her phone back in her pocket, she saw headlights and heard the sound of an approaching car. The car slowed as it approached her hidden position, and Andromeda only hesitated for a second before dashing out, opened the back door, and jumped into the slow-moving vehicle._

" _Right on time," Casca murmured as Andromeda slammed the door shut and quickly lay on the floor in the back seat._

" _Actually, you're early," Andromeda muttered, then fell silent. She lay on the floor, not moving, hardly daring to breathe, as the car made its way to the East Gate. She felt the car slow as it went through the gate, before turning onto Victor's Boulevard and speeding up once more._

 _Andromeda lay still until she heard Casca's voice. "All clear. You can sit up now."_

 _Slowly, Andromeda sat up. She peered through the windshield and noticed that they weren't heading towards the Administrative District. "Where are we going?" she asked._

" _We're meeting some people," Casca explained. "Peacekeepers, to be exact."_

" _What?" Andromeda cried out in alarm. "_ Peacekeepers? _"_

 _Casca chuckled. "Relax. They're Rebel sympathizers. You don't think that we could just roll up in a Presidential sedan and cart away six prisoners, did you?"_

" _I didn't know," Andromeda admitted, slightly embarrassed by her ignorance._

" _The transport van is designed to hold prisoners," Casca explained. "This car is designed for comfort._

" _How many Peacekeepers?" Andromeda asked._

" _Two. That's all that's needed for a prisoner transport. The prisoners will be chained and shackled in the back – at least at first." Casca glanced up in the rear-view mirror and smiled. "Don't worry. By the time anyone realizes that we and the prisoners are missing, we'll be long gone."_

 _Before Andromeda could say anything, though, Casca's phone rang. Casca frowned, touched his earpiece, and spoke one word. "Bishop."_

 _Casca listened intently for several moments as he continued driving. Andromeda leaned forward, curious as to who could be calling Casca. Finally, Casca spoke again. "I understand. I hope they're okay. No, that's fine. Thank you."_

 _Casca flicked a control on his earpiece and slowed the car, taking a sudden turn and muttering under his breath. Andromeda understood a single word. "Shit."_

" _What's wrong?" she asked anxiously. "Why did you turn? Where are we going now?"_

" _That call," Casca said slowly, "was from the transportation officer at the prison. It seems that 'my' handpicked, Rebel sympathizer Peacekeepers, were in a traffic accident enroute to our meeting location. Their van was broadsided by a delivery truck. One officer taken to Victor's Mercy, the other was treated at the scene." He paused and pounded his fist angrily on the steering wheel. "Fuck!" He glanced at Andromeda in the mirror. "Sorry, Miss Andromeda. But this changes everything. We're headed directly to the prison. If I don't show up it'll arouse suspicion."_

" _Why?" Andromeda asked._

" _Because," Casca explained, "the transportation officer is going to provide two replacement Peacekeepers and a new van, thinking that we are taking the prisoners to see your grandfather like the movement order says." He paused again. "That would be two_ Loyalist _Peacekeepers."_

" _What are we going to do?" Andromeda asked in a worried tone._

 _Casca was now heading towards the prison. "I have no fucking idea," he said softly._

 **PART III**

" _Alpha Team, report." Jackson's hushed voice crackled over Katniss's earpiece._

" _In position," Staff Sergeant Duffy's voice replied immediately. "Negative contact."_

" _Copy. Bravo Team, report."_

" _Bravo Team in position." A new voice…recently promoted Sergeant Homes. "Negative contact here too."_

" _Copy. Charlie Team, report."_

" _In position, Eltee," Sergeant Leeg…the one that had infiltrated District Twelve, along with Jackson, Mitchell, and Homes…replied succinctly. "No contact."_

" _Copy." Jackson glanced up at Boggs. "The perimeter is secure, Colonel."_

" _Tell your people to stay alert," Boggs said. "They'll get cold. Send out recon and security patrols to sweep out one hundred meters. One soldier from each team every twenty minutes. Have them link up at twelve o'clock and do a complete three-sixty."_

" _Colonel," Jackson said carefully, "each soldier on the perimeter has night vision, and the hovercraft is doing continuous scans with ground surveillance radar. Nothing can get close to us without us knowing about it. I don't see –"_

" _It'll keep them warm, and alert," Boggs explained, cutting Jackson off. "The nighttime temp will be below freezing. I want them on their toes."_

 _Jackson nodded slowly. "I'll let them know."_

 _As Jackson relayed the orders to the three team leaders, Katniss stood and nervously checked her bow. "Now what?" she asked Boggs._

 _Boggs didn't answer immediately. Katniss could see that he had a headset on and was having a low, urgent conversation via the tight-beam radio. Katniss shrugged and peered out through the front windshield of the hovercraft. They had set down in a small clearing, barely large enough to land the hovercraft, surrounded by tall, straight pine trees. The clearing itself was nestled in a box canyon some fifty kilometers from the Capitol. Looking due south, Katniss imagined that she could see a glow from the far-off city lights. But perhaps it was only her imagination._

" _We wait," Boggs said finally, as he removed his headset. He smiled reassuringly at Katniss. "Don't worry. This is a clandestine operation. We don't anticipate any trouble."_

" _It seems that every time someone says that, something goes to shit," Katniss said wryly, and then changed the subject. "Was that radio call to Thirteen?"_

" _Yeah. I let them know that we were on the ground at the pick-up zone and that the area is secure." Boggs glanced out of the hovercraft windshield at the rapidly-darkening forest. "Look. If there's trouble, we'll deal with it. Now settle down and try to relax. Don't make me have one of the medics sedate you, like we had to do with Finnick."_

 _Katniss simply nodded and eased down onto the webbed seat. Finnick Odair was originally supposed to accompany the rescue operation, but had become so agitated on the flight line that he had to be heavily sedated, and had been left behind. She clutched her bow tightly and closed her eyes, but didn't sleep._

 _In a few hours, if everything went according to plan, she would be reunited with Peeta. But, if something went horribly wrong, and the unthinkable happened, Katniss was prepared to sell her own life dearly. Her mother and sister were well and safe in District Thirteen. The momentum of the war had shifted to the side of the Rebellion, and there was a cautious optimism that the Rebels would, in the end, emerge as the victors. But if Peeta wasn't on the hovercraft, alive, when it lifted off for the return to District Thirteen, Katniss had decided that she wouldn't be on it either._

 _She was only fifty kilometers from the Capitol, and immensely skilled in woodcraft. It would be a simple matter for her to disappear into the forest and live off the land until she made her way into the Capitol itself. And there, with her quiver full of explosive and incendiary arrows, coupled with her recent training in military weapons and tactics, she would wage a one-woman war against the citizens of the Capitol._

 _Katniss knew that the odds would not be in her favor, and that eventually she would be killed. But Katniss was reminded of something that Haymitch had once said, when one of the Capitol expatriates was debating the merits of the Rebellion with him._ Better to die on our feet than live on our knees _. And, if Peeta was dead, Katniss intended to do just that._

 _For seventy-five years, the citizens of the Capitol had cheered on The Hunger Games, while being themselves immune from its horrors. But if Peeta was dead, Katniss would treat them all to an up-close and personal version of the Games, Capitol style. Only in the Capitol, as a Victor, and as a hunter,_ she _would be the Career…and the Capitolites would be nothing more than so much cannon fodder._

* * *

There were no windows in my cell, nor were there any clocks. I had no way to determine the passage of time. The only way I knew it was evening was when an Avox came with my dinner. As with lunch, I didn't eat much. If anything, it was worse than what I had been fed earlier. I picked at my food, drank all of the water, and pushed the remains of my dinner around on the paper tray until the Avox returned to collect up what I had left.

I sighed and leaned back against the wall. Somewhere close by, I heard a woman's intermittent screams. I was sure it was Annie Cresta again. A few days before, Johanna had told me that Finnick's presence had an amazing, calming effect on Annie. Johanna had said that, at those times, it would be difficult to tell that anything was wrong with Annie…that she acted nearly normal when she was with him. I found myself wondering if Annie would be Snow's next execution, after I was dead. Annie's death would break Finnick as surely as he hoped that my death would break Katniss.

Katniss. I hoped that she would be spared the agony of having to watch me die. Would Coin try to force her to watch it, or would Haymitch succeed in protecting her? I just didn't know…and that was as bad as waiting to die. Not knowing what would happen to Katniss afterwards.

I just wished that I could somehow, one last time, tell Katniss how much I loved her.

 **PART IV**

 _Sperantia Blackstone hung back in the shadows, shivering slightly as the cold night air seeped through the fabric of her coat. She pulled the coat tighter around her as she peered across the street at the façade of the prison, and the mostly empty parking lot adjacent to it. She had been waiting here for over twenty minutes, and was becoming worried that she had somehow missed Meda and her traitorous bodyguard, Casca…that they had come and gone before she had even arrived._

 _Wait! She saw a car ease into the parking lot and – yes! It carried the markings of a Presidential fleet sedan. Speri smiled to herself as she watched the car pull into a marked VIP spot directly in front of the prison's main visitor entrance and stop. A moment later the driver's door opened and the traitor Casca Bishop emerged, his breath forming white clouds around his head as he bent and spoke quietly to someone in the back seat of the car. Speri nodded slightly. That confirmed it. Andromeda Snow was in the back seat, just as she expected._

 _Speri crouched down, keeping to the shadows, and never took her eyes off of the car as the traitor closed his door and walked quickly to the entrance, pausing until someone on the inside caused the door to slide open. As soon as Casca the traitor disappeared into the building, Speri straightened up and jogged across the street, heading directly for the Presidential fleet sedan._

 _Sperantia Blackstone had no qualms about turning in the traitor Casca Bishop – but Andromeda Snow was her oldest and dearest friend. She had gone astray but Speri felt, deep in her heart, that she owed her best friend at least the chance to renounce her traitorous ways…if only she had a few minutes to talk to her before Casca returned._

 _Speri approached the car from behind. She could see Meda slouched in the back seat, apparently oblivious to Speri's presence. Good. Speri nodded. She would have the advantage of surprise, and she knew that she could get Meda to listen to her before it was too late. Speri was standing next to the car now. She raised her hand, clenched her fingers into a fist, and rapped sharply on the ballistic glass._

* * *

 _Slowly, Casca pulled into the nearly deserted parking area of the prison and eased into a spot reserved for VIP's._ What now? _Casca said to himself. He shut the engine off and glanced at Andromeda in the mirror. Her forehead was creased in a worried frown._

" _Wait here," he said brusquely as he opened the door and climbed out of the car._

" _What? Where are you going?" Andromeda leaned forward, clutching the back of the front seat in both hands._

" _Inside, to collect up our prisoners," Casca explained impatiently. "And no, you can't come with me." His voice softened a bit. "Look. There will be only two Peacekeepers guarding the prisoners. That's standard. I just need to get them away from here before we do anything."_

 _Andromeda nodded, not asking what "anything" meant…or perhaps not wanting to know. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Miss Andromeda. Sit tight." Casca shut his door firmly and Andromeda watched as he strode purposefully to the main entrance, paused at the door, and then entered the imposing building when the door slid open._

 _Andromeda bit her lip nervously and sat back, shivering slightly as the cold night air seeped into the car._ We're too far into this now, _she said to herself._ If Casca backed out and told the people inside the prison that Grandpa changed his mind, they would get suspicious. _Everyone_ in the Capitol is suspicious nowadays! And there would be questions, and they would find out that the order was forged, and then –

 _Andromeda jumped at a sudden, insistent knocking on the car door window. Surprised, she peered through the tinted glass, her eyes widening in surprise and recognition at the figure standing outside the car._

" _Speri?" she managed to gasp in shock._

* * *

I was drifting in and out of a light sleep when I heard the familiar sound of the lock on my cell door unlatching, followed by the sound of the door sliding open. I opened my eyes, blinked, and turned my head towards the door and saw a pair of white-uniformed Peacekeepers step into my cell. I noticed that one of them was carrying a set of shackles and a belly chain.

"Stand," the nearest one barked. I stood, feeling a cold knot of fear twist deep in my belly. _Is it now? Is Snow doing it now?_ I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat and forced myself to outwardly remain calm.

"Turn, face the wall, and grab some paint," the Peacekeeper ordered. I did as I was told, placing my hands palm-flat against the wall. The two Peacekeepers stepped forward. One patted me down quickly (as if he was going to find any contraband). Satisfied, he stepped back and ordered me to turn around once more.

The two Peacekeepers quickly shackled my hands in front of me and then did the same with my feet, allowing perhaps a half-meter of play in the chain between my legs. Once my arms and legs were secured one of the Peacekeepers wrapped the belly chain around me and they both quickly affixed chains running from the belly chain to the shackles binding my arms and legs. Once everything was locked down the Peacekeepers stood and stepped back, nodding in satisfaction.

One stepped behind me as the other beckoned. "Follow me." On rubbery legs I followed the Peacekeeper into the hall outside my cell. There, to my surprise, I saw my fellow Victor prisoners – Johanna Mason from District Seven, Annie Cresta from District Four, and the three Careers: Gloss and Cashmere from District One and Enobaria from District Two. They were all shackled like me. And, from their confused expressions, they had no more idea what was going on than I did.

Johanna was the only one to directly acknowledge my presence. "Hey, Handsome," she said with a smile, earning herself a slap across the back of her head for her trouble.

"Shut up," the Peacekeeper ordered. Johanna's head turned and she glared back at the one that had hit her, but she did as she was told.

"Line up," another Peacekeeper ordered. "Single file, facing that way." He pointed down the hall. Silently, the soft clanking of our chains the only sound, we complied. I found myself in the middle of the line, directly behind Annie Cresta, who seemed remarkably calm and obedient, with Enobaria lining up behind me.

Once we were lined up, the Peacekeepers moved down our file and quickly chained us all together. One Peacekeeper then stepped to the front of the line while another brought up the rear. The Peacekeeper in front removed a collapsible baton from his belt and, with a practiced flick of his wrist, extended it, and then tapped the lead Prisoner – Gloss – on the shoulder.

"Move out," the Peacekeeper ordered as he, too, began walking. "Follow me."

As we shuffled down the hallway, I began to relax just a little bit. _Wherever we're going, I doubt it's to my execution,_ I said to myself. _Snow would want every moment documented, and I don't see anything here that looks like a camera crew. And I doubt he would drag all of my fellow Victors out with me._

One question still remained, though. Where, exactly, _were_ we going?

* * *

 _Casca Bishop was escorted into an area the Peacekeeper that was guiding him referred to as the "Vehicular Sally Port." It was a large, garage-like structure, completely enclosed, that contained a single Prisoner Transport Van and a pair of Peacekeepers standing next to the vehicle._

" _All right, Mr. Bishop," his escort said as they stopped next to the van. "Here you go." He handed one of the Transport Peacekeepers a sheaf of paper. "Transport order and six detention forms. Signed, sealed, and delivered."_

" _Excellent," the Transport Peacekeeper said. He took the paper and slid the sheaf into a file folder before extending his hand. "Mr. Bishop? We're your Transport team."_

 _Casca quickly shook the proffered hand of both Peacekeepers. "A pleasure," he murmured before turning back to his escort. "Thanks again."_

" _My pleasure, Mr. Bishop," his escort replied. He waved at the Transport Peacekeepers, "See you when you get back."_

" _What now?" Casca asked as his escort stepped through a sliding door, which promptly shut with a loud bang behind him._

" _We wait," the Peacekeeper replied. "Your guests are on their way."_

 _They didn't have long to wait. Two minutes later, another door slid open and a Peacekeeper stepped through, trailed by six orange-clad prisoners. Casca gave no outward sign of recognition when he spotted Peeta Mellark in the middle of the line. He was thin, haggard, and pale, he was visibly limping, and his face exhibited healing bruises and abrasions – but he was alive._

 _Casca watched, his face impassive, as the prisoners were marched up to the rear of the van, where both doors were now opened, and a small set of steps were folded out from the opening. The Peacekeepers escorting the prisoners stopped them at the rear of the van and unchained them. Once unchained from each other, the six prisoners were then directed to enter the van, which they did silently. Peeta Mellark hesitated on the steps, clearly having some difficulty in climbing them, and had to be helped into the van by a Peacekeeper. Finally, all six prisoners were loaded and seated, the steps retracted, and then the doors were slammed shut with a loud thump and locked._

 _Their job nearly done, one of the escort Peacekeepers stepped forward with a clipboard. "Mr. Bishop? Sign at the bottom, please, accepting receipt of six prisoners."_

" _Of course." Casca took the clipboard, signed his name with a flourish, and then handed it back to the Peacekeeper. "There you are."_

" _Thank you, sir," the Peacekeeper said. The two Peacekeepers assigned to the transport van had already climbed into the cab and started the vehicle. The Peacekeeper holding the clipboard patted the hood of the van, waved at the two Peacekeepers seated inside, and spoke into his commicuff. "Open it up."_

 _A large door at one end of the garage-like sally port slowly began to slide open. The Peacekeeper seated in the passenger side of the van beckoned Casca over. "Grab on," the Peacekeeper told Casca. "We'll take you back out to your car."_

 _Casca stepped onto the running board and grabbed a handhold. The vehicle lurched forward, rolling through the door and back out into the cold night._ They both seem decent enough, for Peacekeepers, _Casca thought._ It's a shame that I'll have to kill them both.

* * *

" _Open the door, Meda," Sperantia Blackstone demanded._

 _Dumbfounded, Andromeda Snow did exactly that. Quickly, Speri slid into the back seat, slamming the door behind her. "Speri, what –" Andromeda sputtered._

" _Shut up," Speri snapped. She twisted around on the seat and faced Andromeda directly. "Shut up and listen to me. Meda, how_ could _you? You're betraying Panem. You're betraying the Capitol. You're betraying your own_ grandfather! _" She paused, and then added, "And you're betraying me. I thought you were my best friend!"_

" _I am your best friend," Andromeda whispered._

 _Speri crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared intently at Andromeda. "Prove it."_

" _What? How am I –"_

 _Speri pulled her phone out of her pocket. "You and I are gonna get out of this car, and I'm gonna call my father and tell him everything. He'll have fifty Peacekeepers here inside of two minutes. They'll arrest your bodyguard and put those traitors back in prison where they belong!"_

 _Andromeda stared at her friend for a long moment before speaking. "How did you know?"_

" _I saw you last night, in this car, at my house," Speri replied. "And I followed you both here. I heard enough last night to know that you were planning something about Peeta Mellark." Speri paused and looked at her friend intently. "Well? What's it gonna be?"_

 _Andromeda sighed. "Speri, you don't understand."_

" _I understand that my best friend is this close –" she held up her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart "– to becoming a traitor. Meda, I_ love _you! I don't want to see you ruin your life. And that's exactly what will happen if you don't get out of this car with me_ right now. _"_

 _Andromeda stared down at her lap, her hands twisting nervously. "You didn't see it. How they live…how they_ lived _…in District Twelve. Living in falling-down shacks. Never enough to eat. No doctors, no medicine…just starvation, fear, and people dying of old age before they are fifty." She looked up at her friend. "It's not right. We were always taught that the Districts provided us with what we needed, and in turn we provided them with what they needed. I_ saw _it, Speri! The only thing_ we _provided them with was fear!"_

 _Speri shook her head. "I've heard enough." She grabbed the door handle. "I'm getting out and calling for those Peacekeepers. Last chance, Meda." She paused and added softly, "Please."_

 _Andromeda twisted around, facing the front of the car. "Do what you feel you have to do, Speri," she said flatly._

 _Neither girl had noticed a figure approaching the rear of the car as they argued._

* * *

 _Casca rapped sharply on the glass of the passenger-side window. "Pull over here," he ordered._

 _The Peacekeeper unrolled the window slightly. "Here? But isn't your car in the parking lot?"_

Yes, and I can't run the risk of you seeing that I have a young, female passenger. _"Yeah," Casca replied, "but this way you don't have to leave the street. Pull over and I'll pull my car around and you can fall in behind me."_

 _The passenger hesitated for a few moments, and, for a terrifying instant, Casca feared that he would be forced to kill them both, here, right next to the prison. He relaxed as he saw the man turn and speak quickly to the driver, and then felt the van slow, then stop. Casca jumped off of the running board and waved._

" _Car's over there," Casca said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go get it. Wait here, then fall in behind me when you see me pull out in front of you."_

" _Got it."_

 _Casca waved once more before he turned and trotted towards the car. As he drew closer, he snorted in disgust when he noticed, through the tinting on the rear window, that he could see Andromeda sitting up in the back seat._ I told that girl to stay low, _he said to himself, and then stopped abruptly in his tracks when he noticed not one, but_ two _silhouettes in the rear window._

 _Casca hesitated and then reached for his pistol._ No. No shooting. _The transport van was too far away from the car. If he fired, the transport Peacekeepers would hear the shots and would be alerted to trouble. Casca stuck his hand in his jacket pocket instead, his fingers closing around his stun gun._

It has to be quick and smooth. _Casca strode quickly to the rear of the car, grabbed the passenger-side back door handle, and jerked the door open, his stunner clenched in his other hand._

 _The scene that greeted him was burned indelibly into his memory. Andromeda Snow, staring at him wide-eyed from the driver's side of the back seat. Another girl, this one dark-haired and about the same age as Andromeda, pulled off-balance as her hand was on the door handle when Casca opened the door so abruptly. This girl looked familiar to Casca, but he didn't hesitate._

 _Casca jabbed his stunner into the side of the girl's neck and his thumb pressed down on the switch. There was a sharp crackling noise and the girl arched her back, twitching slightly as the stun charge coursed through her body. A muffled scream escaped her lips, and she collapsed onto the seat, her eyes clenched tightly shut against the paralyzing pain._

* * *

We had been moving for only a minute or so when we felt the transport van slow, then stop.

We were packed into the back of the transport, three to a side, sitting on hard metal benches. And, even though we were no longer chained together, each of us had been shackled in place by a short length of chain running from the floor to our ankle chains. We weren't going anywhere.

"What now?" Gloss muttered as he leaned his head against the side of the van. No one had spoken up to that point.

Enobaria glanced up. "I recognized the man that signed for us. He's Snow's security chief and one of his personal bodyguards."

"They're taking us to see Snow?" Annie Cresta glanced around fearfully. "I – I don't want –"

"Shut up, nutjob," Cashmere all but snarled. "No one gives a shit what you want."

"Lay off, bitch!" Johanna spit. She jerked her chains ineffectually as she glared at Cashmere.

Cashmere leaned back and smirked at Johanna. "Or what, lumberjack?"

"Johanna –" I warned.

Johanna glanced at me and grinned. "Oh, it's all right, Handsome," she said. "Glamour puss here is all talk and no bite. Speaking of talk," she added sweetly, "I bet you wish you had done some pro-Capitol talk before you got yourself locked up with us rebellious hooligans." She glanced at Enobaria. "Like your mentally challenged friend Brutus. Hasn't he just been the perfect Capitol lapdog through all this?"

Enobaria snarled at Johanna, baring her sharpened teeth. At that moment, the van lurched into motion again. I found myself wishing that there were windows so I could see what was going on outside. Then again, maybe it was better that I couldn't.

By now, I was pretty much convinced that I was not on my way to be executed. But, I had recognized Snow's bodyguard as well, from Snow's visit to Twelve, when he brought his granddaughter there to meet Katniss and I for her birthday. He wouldn't be here right now unless we were being taken to see Snow.

I only wish I knew why.

* * *

 _Casca slammed the back door of the sedan shut and quickly trotted around to the driver's side, hoping that the two Peacekeepers in the van weren't watching very closely. As he opened the door and climbed into the car, there was no reaction from either Peacekeeper. Casca shut his door firmly and relaxed just a bit before starting the car._

" _What did you do to her?" Andromeda asked in a tremulous voice._

 _Casca slowly pulled away from the parking area. "Stunned her. She's okay." He reached his free hand into the back seat and handed the stunner to Andromeda. "Take this. If she starts coming around, stick the probe against her neck and push the button. The effect wears off after a few minutes, so you'll probably have to do it more than once."_

 _Reluctantly, Andromeda took the stunner. "How does it work? Are you sure it won't hurt her?"_

 _Casca glanced up at his rear-view mirror and made sure that the van was following him before he spoke. "It scrambles neural impulses from the brain to the rest of the body. And no, I'm not sure if repeated stunning will hurt her. Or would you rather I just shoot her outright?"_

" _No!" Andromeda looked horrified. On the seat next to her, she heard Speri moan softly and begin to stir. "She's waking up, Casca."_

" _Hit her again," Casca ordered grimly. An idea sprung into his head and he slowed at the next traffic light, turning right onto a side street._

 _Andromeda reluctantly pressed the stunner against Speri's neck and pressed the button. Once again, Speri jerked and cried out softly in pain. "I'm so sorry, Speri," Andromeda sobbed quietly._

 _Casca looked up sharply. "Speri? As in Sperantia Blackstone? Security Minister Blackstone's daughter?"_

" _Yes," Andromeda replied. "She…she's my best friend."_ Or was, _Andromeda said to herself._ She'll hate me after this. _"She was the one that followed us last night."_

 _Casca laughed humorlessly. "Oh, fuck. This just keeps getting better and better."_ Some professional you are, Bishop, _Casca thought._ A frigging fourteen-year-old _girl_ got the better of you…twice! _"Check her pockets. I want everything she's carrying." He paused for a moment. "You, too. Everything you have. And give me the stunner back."_

 _Andromeda did as she was told. As she searched Speri, she asked, "Where are we going?"_

" _Warehouse district," Casca replied curtly. "What, did you think we would be heading back to the Palace?"_

 _Andromeda didn't answer, but instead leaned forward and dumped the contents of Speri's pockets, and hers, onto the front seat. Casca glanced down. Two phones, some money, government identification cards, and the stunner. "That's it," she said._

 _Casca nodded. "Good," he said as he took another abrupt turn. The street that he had turned onto was darkened, with warehouses looming up on either side. Casca pulled to the side of the street, next to a dark warehouse, and stopped the sedan._

" _What's going on?" Andromeda asked. "Why are we here?"_

 _Casca opened his door and pocketed the stunner. "Stay in the car until I tell you otherwise," he ordered tersely._

* * *

We had only been driving for a few more minutes when I felt the van stop again.

Johanna had been amusing herself by continuing her taunting argument with Enobaria, Cashmere, and Gloss. Annie hadn't said anything more, and was now attempting to curl into a ball and kept trying to press her hands to her ears, only to be thwarted by her shackles. I heard soft whimpers come out of her every now and then, but she was quiet for the most part.

"What now?" I muttered. We definitely weren't stopped at a traffic light. The van had definitely pulled over and stopped.

We could hear muffled conversation coming from the driver's compartment, followed by the sound of a door opening, then closing. One of the Peacekeepers appeared to have gotten out of the van. I could only guess at why.

Another voice joined the voices of the two Peacekeepers. Something was going on outside. I strained to hear what was being said but the running argument in here prevented me from hearing anything specific. I twisted around and glared at the three Career Victors arguing with Johanna Mason.

"Hey!" I hissed. "You all need to shut up. Something's happening outside and I can't hear!"

There was a second or two of stunned silence before Gloss snarled, "Who the fuck do you think you are, boy, to tell _me_ what to do?"

Before I could answer, there was a sharp crackling noise, followed by muffled voices, a "thump" on the side of the van, and a second crackling noise. My eyes darted around the faces of my fellow prisoners, seeing surprise and shock on each one…except for Annie. She just looked scared.

"What was that?" Johanna asked in a hushed voice.

"Sounded like a stunner," Enobaria replied. "I've seen them used in Two. Same kind of noise."

"A stunner?" Cashmere said, confused. "But who –"

"She's waking up!" The sound of a girl's voice, high-pitched, coming from outside the van. It didn't sound like she was right outside. Maybe towards the front at a short distance.

"Coming!" A male voice called out, followed by the sound of running footsteps.

"What the hell is going on out there?" Gloss asked. But, of course, none of us could answer him.

For a few moments, everything was quiet. Inside the van, all we could do was exchange fearful, confused looks. None of us dared to make a sound.

The sound of footsteps again…walking, not running, this time…approaching the van. The sound of one of the van doors opening, followed by a man's quiet voice. Then, louder, "Here. Take this and watch them. Hit 'em if they move."

"Okay," a girl's tremulous voice replied. I frowned. The voice sounded oddly familiar. I wish she would say something more so I could place her. I know I've heard it before, somewhere –

Someone was at the back door. We all jumped at the sound of the door handle being rattled. A muffled curse, a clinking of keys, and the sound of a key being inserted into the lock. I tensed as the key turned and the door latches were thrown, followed by the doors swinging wide open.

* * *

 _Casca walked quickly towards the rear of the car as the van pulled up, its headlights glaring in his eyes. Casca smiled and waved, shielding his eyes with one hand as he approached the van._

" _Sorry!" He called out cheerfully. "Car trouble. I'm not sure what the issue is." He shook his head in disgust. "Warning lights all over the dash. I called the Palace. President Snow will have my ass if I'm late with these scumbags," he added worriedly._

 _The driver unrolled his window. "Why did you stop here?" he asked, suspicion in his voice._

" _No one here this time of night," Casca explained. "A broken-down Presidential Fleet sedan would make a nice target for Rebel terrorists. Here, we can see anyone coming long before they get here. No chance for a drive-by or hit-and-run attack."_

" _Guess that makes sense," the driver grudgingly admitted. "You want to wait for another car?"_

" _The motor pool is sending a wrecker out for this one," Casca lied smoothly. "Listen, I can't be late with this load. Any chance I can squeeze in here with you? The motor pool can pick the car up without me being here."_

 _The two Peacekeepers glanced at each other, and then the passenger shrugged. "It'll be tight, but we can manage," he said as he opened his door and stepped out into the cold. "I'm gonna do a quick walk-around before we get going again."_

" _Okay," Casca replied, as he climbed into the cab of the van._ Perfect. I only have to deal with them one at a time. _He palmed the stunner as he slid across the seat towards the driver. "He wasn't lying about it being tight in here," Casca said conversationally._

" _Yeah, and our armor don't help –" The Peacekeeper never finished his sentence. Casca jabbed the stunner under the man's chin and pressed the switch._

 _Casca didn't wait to see the results of his attack. He slid back across the seat and out into the chill night air, just as the other Peacekeeper came back around the side of the van. The man had heard the sharp crack of the stunner and his hand rested on the butt of his pistol as he approached Casca._

" _What the hell was that?" the Peacekeeper asked in alarm. "It sounded like a stunner. Is there trouble?"_

" _No," Casca replied calmly as the Peacekeeper passed him. "It's under control."_

 _The Peacekeeper never knew what hit him. Casca's free hand shot out and slammed the Peacekeeper against the side of the van, and his other hand jammed the stunner against the back of the man's neck and thumbed the switch._

 _The Peacekeeper collapsed in a nerveless, twitching heap, and Casca drew a deep, shaky breath._ Okay, _he said to himself,_ time to –

" _She's waking up!" Andromeda's shrill scream cut through the air._

Shit! _"Coming!" Casca ran back to the car, muttering a quick curse under his breath._ The Blackstonegirl! _She was moaning and twisting her head from side to side by the time Casca got to the car._

" _Stand back," Casca ordered Andromeda as he bent over Speri. Her skin was reddened from her previous stuns. Casca flipped her over and jerked her coat collar to one side, exposing her collarbone._

" _Say goodnight," he said, almost gently, as he pressed the stunner against the exposed skin._

" _Come with me," Casca said tersely as Sperantia Blackstone once more convulsed into unconsciousness._

 _Andromeda followed Casca back to the van. He quickly examined both Peacekeepers. Satisfied that they were still incapacitated, he quickly searched them both, finding a set of keys on the driver._

" _Got 'em," Casca murmured softly. He straightened up, pocketed the keys, and then handed the stunner to Andromeda. "Here. Take this and watch them. Hit 'em if they move."_

" _Okay," Andromeda replied, her voice shaky._

 _Casca smiled at the girl, patted her on the shoulder, and then moved quickly to the rear of the van. He grabbed the door handles and tried to turn them, with no luck. "Shit." He had fully expecting the doors to be locked, but still, he had to try the doors first._

 _Casca pulled the keys from his pocket, examined them quickly, and selected one, inserting it into the lock and grunting softly with satisfaction as the key turned easily. Grabbing the handles, he turned them, felt the doors unlatch, and swung them wide open._

 **PART V**

 _Katniss Everdeen checked her bowstring for the tenth time in the past hour, then sighed, lay her bow carefully on the seat next to her, and leaned her head back. The only light inside the hovercraft was coming from a series of dim, red lamps. The light didn't carry very far and was ideal for illumination at night in hostile territory, but it had the added effect of casting everything in a sinister light._

Everyone here has a job to do, except me, _she said to herself. Aside from a few quick shots that Messalla had taken when they arrived, Katniss's only job had been to stay out of the way and wait. And the inactivity was wearing her down mentally._

" _Here." Katniss glanced up to see Boggs standing over her, holding out a steaming cup. The corners of her mouth twitched up in a semblance of a smile and she nodded her thanks, taking the cup and inhaling the rich aroma of black tea._

" _I'm surprised Coin authorized hot beverages for this mission," Katniss murmured after she took her first sip._

" _Special circumstances," Boggs replied dryly as he sat down next to her._

 _Katniss looked at him hopefully. "Any word?"_

 _Boggs shook his head. "Nothing so far…which is exactly what we suspected. Jabberjay will maintain radio silence until –"_

"' _Jabberjay?'" Katniss repeated with a soft chuckle._

" _Our Capitol operative," Boggs explained. "He will broadcast one word if he is successful. And then we wait for he and the prisoners to show up here."_

" _What word?" Katniss asked._

" _Dandelion."_

 _Katniss nodded._ A perfect code word for mission success, _she thought. But – "What if he's not successful?"_

"If _he's still alive, and able to broadcast, the code word for mission failure is 'Arena.'" Boggs scrutinized Katniss's face carefully. "Relax. We would have heard 'Arena' by now if he wasn't successful."_

" _And still alive," Katniss added somberly._

" _Yeah," Boggs agreed. "If he was still alive."_

 _Katniss drained her cup. "Thanks for being honest with me."_

" _You deserve it." Boggs took her cup and rose to his feet. "Katniss. Relax. In this case, right now, no news is good news."_

" _Are you trying to cheer me up, Boggs?" Katniss picked up her bow and began to inspect the bowstring once more._

" _Yes," Boggs replied simply. "Did it work?"_

" _No."_

* * *

For a split-second, the six of us in the back of the van froze as the doors opened. In the dim light we could see it was the man from the palace. Snow's security man. His bodyguard. What was his name again, and why the hell did we stop?

"My name is Casca Bishop." _Casca! Of course!_ He tossed a set of keys into the back of the van. "Unlock yourselves. We don't have a lot of time."

Johanna was the first to speak. "Even _them_?" she asked, jerking a thumb at the three Career Victors.

Casca's eyes narrowed. "Even them." He looked over at Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria. "You have two choices. You either come with us – willingly – and cooperate, and maybe live another day, or I kill you, here and now."

"Is this supposed to be some sort of half-assed rescue?" Cashmere asked archly.

"Let me put it another way," Casca said impatiently. "I could keep you shackled and leave you to the tender mercies of the Peacekeepers, when they finally find this van. Or perhaps you take your chances with Snow. I doubt very much that anything you say would be believed. You wouldn't be his guest in an orange jumpsuit if you were all firmly in Snow's good graces, now, would you?"

I had finished unlocking my shackles and was working on Johanna's when Enobaria spoke up. "Unlock me," she said. "I'll take my chances with you. At least if I die I'll die on my feet."

Casca nodded, and then turned to me. "You remember me?" he asked.

"Yeah. From Twelve."

He nodded again. "Come on," he ordered. "You, too," he said to Johanna.

I looked at Johanna, shrugged, and followed Casca out of the back of the van. Around the front I could see a Peacekeeper sprawled out on the ground, and both cab doors of the van standing open, with the other Peacekeeper hanging part-way out of the driver's door. A girl was standing near one Peacekeeper, clutching something in her hand. As I approached I got a good look at her…and I gasped in shock.

"Andromeda?"

Andromeda Snow looked at me and smiled nervously. "Hello, Peeta. You remembered me."

Johanna looked at Andromeda, then at me. "I take it you two have met?"

"Yeah," I replied, feeling the shock wear off somewhat. "Johanna Mason, this is Andromeda Snow."

Johanna's eyebrows shot straight up at this. "As in _Coriolanus_ Snow?"

"She's with me," Casca said as he flipped the Peacekeeper on the ground onto his back and pulled the helmet off the man's head. "It's okay. She's on our side."

"A Rebel Snow," Johanna muttered as she glared at Andromeda. "Oh, joy."

"You two drag that one out of the van," Casca ordered. He pulled the first Peacekeeper's body armor off and then started on the tunic.

Johanna and I complied. "He's still breathing," I said as we laid him down next to the other.

"They're not dead," Casca explained. "Just stunned." He straightened up and spoke to Andromeda. "Make sure they stay stunned. I'll be right back." To Johanna and I, he said, "Finish stripping them. Helmets, body armor, weapons, uniforms, boots – everything but underwear." He turned and trotted off towards the car that was parked just ahead.

Johanna and I bent to our task as Andromeda stood by. "You and I will have to talk once this is all over," I said as we worked.

"It's a long story," Andromeda said. "But I want you to know that I'm on your side."

"Oh, goody," Johanna grunted as she removed the first man's trousers. "Baby Snow is –"

"Jo," I snapped, as I pulled off a boot, "Shut up."

Johanna glared at me but said nothing. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw the others emerging from behind the van, watching Johanna and I with interest.

"So, what's the plan, Hero?" Cashmere asked.

"Ask Casca," I grunted as I pulled off the other boot. The man stirred and groaned softly as his eyelids fluttered. "He's coming around," I said, backing up.

Andromeda didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, pressed the stunner against the man's neck, and pushed the button. Then, for good measure, she did it to the other one as well.

Enobaria whistled softly. "Tough little girl," she said grudgingly.

Johanna and I straightened up, the two unconscious Peacekeepers now stripped of their uniforms, as Casca returned, carrying a girl in his arms. "Who's she?" I asked.

"A snoop," Casca replied. "Sticking her nose where it didn't belong." He dumped her in the cab of the van. "We're taking her with us. Someone grab a set of shackles and chain her up." He turned to Andromeda. "Too risky to keep stunning her. Besides, we have some walking to do and I'm not carrying her."

"Thank you," Andromeda whispered. Gloss appeared, carrying a set of shackles, which he quickly put to good use. The girl was now trussed up like we had been earlier.

"We need to keep her quiet when she comes around," Casca announced, once the girl was shackled.

"I know just the thing," Johanna said. Without hesitating, she unzipped the front of her jumpsuit, shrugged out of the top, and pulled the tank top that she wore underneath over her head. I could only gape in surprise as Johanna, bare-breasted and seemingly unmindful of that fact, stuffed part of her tank top in the girl's mouth and knotted the rest securely behind her head.

"All right," Johanna said as she pulled her jumpsuit back on. "All taken care of. What now?"

Casca didn't answer. Instead, he pulled a pistol from under his jacket, knelt next to the two Peacekeepers, and methodically shot each one just behind the ear.

The sudden, cold-blooded execution shocked everyone, including the Career Victors. Slowly, Casca stood up, wiping blood from the muzzle of his pistol – he had pressed the muzzle directly against each Peacekeeper's head, muffling the sound of the gunshots – and looked at each one of us.

"It had to be done," he said flatly. "They can't talk if they're dead." Casca looked at each one of us intently. "Besides," he added, "what do you think would happen to them if they were found, alive, in shackles, and Snow's prize prisoners missing?"

No one answered. No one needed to. Casca nodded. "You all get it. Believe it or not, I did those two a favor."

I heard a noise off to one side. I looked to see Andromeda bent over, quietly throwing up. Enobaria, of all people, stepped to her side and held her hair while she was sick. Casca ignored it. "All right," he said. "Who wants to be a Peacekeeper?"

"Me," Johanna said instantly. Casca eyed her up and down, then nodded.

"Okay. Take the smaller uniform. The rest of you, back in the van." Casca bent and gathered up the larger of the two Peacekeeper uniforms and stripped off his jacket.

"What are we going to do?" Cashmere asked.

Casca smiled as he shrugged into the Peacekeeper's tunic. "We have a date with an Avox."

* * *

The van rumbled through the darkened streets of the Capitol. Once again I, along with Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria, as well as Annie Cresta, was seated in the back – only this time I was free from shackles and, for the first time since my capture, I had a glimmer of hope.

There were two new passengers in the back as well. Andromeda Snow…the spoiled granddaughter of Panem's despotic President Coriolanus Snow, now, amazingly, turned full-fledged Rebel – and the other girl, whose name, I learned, was Sperantia Blackstone.

Sperantia, or 'Speri,' as Andromeda…or, as she preferred, 'Meda'…called her, was Meda's best friend. The daughter of the Minister of Security, she was a hard-core Loyalist that had followed Casca and Meda to the prison, and, apparently, had plans to turn Casca in as a traitor.

Luckily for us, she failed.

The ride was mostly silent. Without Johanna to egg them on, the Career Victors were mute. It was impossible to read the Careers – locked up originally for not immediately supporting the Capitol at the outset of the Rebellion, I knew that Loyalist tendencies still ran deep in them all. But, I knew that they were all angry about their treatment, being locked up with rebellious rabble such as Johanna and me. The question remained…would they voluntarily go along to District Thirteen, or would they take their chances with the Capitol? Only time would tell.

Annie Cresta was another story. She was completely withdrawn, curled up into a ball in one corner of the van, traumatized at the killing of the two Peacekeepers. I noticed Meda looking at her from time to time, and I know that she was confused about Annie's behavior.

"What's wrong with her?" Meda finally asked me quietly.

"She's – well, she has some mental problems," I replied carefully.

"Crazier than a mutt-fox," Enobaria added with a laugh.

I glared at Enobaria, earning a sharp-toothed grin in response. "Is she crazy?" Meda asked.

"She's had to deal with a lot of stress," I explained. "And she doesn't handle it very well." _Of course,_ I added silently, _all of us Victors have nightmares, and emotional problems. Getting her to Finnick…and Dr. Aurelius…is her best chance._

"Stress from the Games?" Meda asked.

"Yeah," I replied softly, and then added, "We all have stress from the Games." I jerked a thumb at the three Careers. "Even them."

"Speak for yourself," Gloss snorted before turning away.

Meda glanced at Gloss uncertainly. "Especially him," I whispered to her with a smile.

"Oh," she said. Somehow I don't think I convinced her.

A noise from the floor caused me to look down. Speri was awake, her eyes darting to each of us fearfully. But when they landed on Meda they became hard, and unflinching. Meda wouldn't meet Speri's angry gaze. I watched them both. If they lived long enough, there was going to be some serious damage control to be done to fix that friendship.

I felt the van slow, and the roll to a gentle stop. I looked at Meda. "Any idea what's going on?"

She shrugged. "Casca didn't say. Just that thing about some Avox."

We heard both cab doors open and then slam shut. Seconds later, the back doors were opened and we could see both Casca and Johanna, looking faintly ridiculous in their ill-fitting Peacekeeper uniforms, gesturing for us to get out.

"Let's go," Casca said. "For once, at least _part_ of the plan went off with no glitches."

We exited the van, with Cashmere and Enobaria "helping" Speri along. No doubt, she was going to have some bruises by tomorrow. I stretched and looked around. The area seemed industrial, but sparsely developed. I looked at Casca in confusion. And, from what I could see, and hear, the others were just as confused.

Casca gathered us in close. "There's a checkpoint a kilometer up this road," he explained. "We would need a special pass to travel past that checkpoint…even in a Peacekeeper van, wearing Peacekeeper uniforms. And no, Miss Andromeda," he continued, looking at Meda, "a note from your grandfather would not work here. The President of Panem doesn't sign travel passes. It would only arouse suspicion."

"So what do we do?" Gloss demanded. "Sprout wings and fly out?"

Casca smiled grimly. "Follow me," he said, and added, "and, by the way…none of you are going to like this."

* * *

We stood clustered in a small outbuilding, with only a single dim light for illumination. We had walked perhaps half a kilometer into the industrial area, thankfully deserted this time of night. Casca was playing his light over the floor, as if he was looking for something.

Speri made some sort of noise behind her gag. I heard a muffled thump, and Cashmere whisper something to Speri, who shut up instantly. Casca looked up at Cashmere, shooting her a "shut the hell up" look, before continuing his search.

"It's here someplace, and – aha!" Casca gestured triumphantly at a spot on the floor. "Found it!"

"Found what?" Enobaria grumbled. "The fucking floor?"

Casca ignored her as he knelt on the floor and, with the Peacekeepers collapsible baton, tapped on the section of floor. The tapping sounded hollow, as if there was a space underneath. He waited, listening intently, and then tapped again. This time, after a few seconds, there was a series of return taps, and Casca looked up at us and grinned.

"Stand back," he said, as he, too, moved back. We all watched in fascination as the section of floor opened up, swinging outward until it thumped against the wall. From down below, we could see a light, considerably more powerful than Casca's, shine up into the room.

"Let's go," Casca said urgently. Johanna went first, followed by Cashmere, Enobaria, and Speri. Meda was next, and I followed Meda. As I lowered myself into the opening, the light illuminated a ladder set into the wall. I grabbed the rungs and carefully, as well as somewhat painfully (I was still mending from my injuries) climbed down into the darkness below.

We milled around while the rest climbed down. We were probably five meters or so beneath the surface. The air was thick and foul-smelling. A stranger- stood off to one side, shining the light up as we climbed down. I assumed that this was the mystery Avox that Casca had mentioned earlier.

Someone coughed, and then spit. I realized then that we were standing in water. Casca was the last to climb down. As soon as he joined us, the Avox scampered up the ladder and shut the trap door with an echoing thump. Casca played his small flashlight over our faces, pausing over Speri's frightened, tear-stained face.

"Come here," he ordered. Speri shuffled forward, her chains clinking softly as she moved. Cashmere and Enobaria flanked her as she stopped in front of Casca. "Okay," Casca said, to Speri although we could all hear perfectly, "here's the deal. We're now standing in the Capitol sewer system. We'll be going through water and it's gonna be dark, and it'll stink worse than anything you've ever smelled, so having you in chains just isn't gonna work. So I'm taking your shackles off. Your gag, too. Now, you can come with us, quietly, and maybe you'll be alive tomorrow. Or, you can stay here. You can scream your head off…I don't care. No one will hear you. And no one… _no one_ …ever comes down here. So if you stay here, you'll die here. Got it?"

Speri nodded, wide-eyed. Casca turned to Cashmere and Enobaria. "Unchain her."

While Speri was being unshackled, Casca addressed the rest of us. "We have about two kilometers to go. When we come up, we'll be outside the Capitol and well past the checkpoint. A Peacekeeper armored truck will be there waiting for us."

"What happens after that?" Gloss asked.

Casca smiled. "We take a drive through the woods, and meet a hovercraft that will take us to safety. Now, before we get started, let me introduce our guide." Casca beckoned for the Avox to come forward. For the first time, I could see it was a woman of petite build. A shock of flaming red hair peeked out from under her utility worker's cap. Even under the uncertain light of the flashlights, I could see that her skin was like white porcelain. The woman looked at me and smiled fondly, and I could barely make out her signs as she spoke to me.

 _Hello, Peeta. I'm very happy to see you._

"Our guide's name," Casca continued, "is –"

"Lavinia," I breathed.

* * *

The trek through the sewer wasn't as bad as I could imagine. It was worse than anything that I _could possibly_ imagine.

Living in District Twelve, I had been exposed to my share of noxious smells in my life. I had survived the Quarter Quell, with its blood rain, mutt snakes, and murderous Tributes. I had seen death up close more times than I cared to remember. But nothing could compare to the vile soup that we were forced to wade through.

All of us had thrown up at least once. And I was holding everyone back. My injuries were nowhere near completely healed and my stamina was gone. I found myself having to stop and rest every hundred meters or so.

"Casca," I gasped at one point as I leaned up against Johanna. "You all go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Casca looked at me, his face expressionless, and said a single word. "No."

I pushed on.

I played a game with myself. Shuffle forward fifty paces, stop and rest for ten breaths. Fifty paces, ten breaths. On and on we went, with Casca allowing me to set the pace. It seemed that I had been counting fifty and ten for roughly forever.

Lavinia often dropped back to check on me, giving me a smile of encouragement and sometimes signing something that I wish I understood. At one point, Casca had explained that Lavinia and been assigned to "subterranean public works" following her demotion from the Tribute center. Avox were routinely assigned dirty jobs, and the dirtiest was sewer detail. It didn't surprise me to learn from Casca that almost all of the sewer Avox were avowed Rebels, and that Lavinia herself had lobbied and manuevered for the job of helping with my rescue.

When…and if…we made it out of this, I vowed to make it up to her. Somehow.

Suddenly, my foot…my artificial one…caught on something and I stumbled, nearly falling into the filth that we were wading through. Johanna caught me with a grunt, and surprisingly was able to keep me upright. Once I regained my feet I noticed that we were all stopped. Casca was whispering something to Lavinia, and, in the dim light, I could see her nod vigorously.

"All right," Casca announced. "This is it."

We made it! I stood off to one side with the others, while Lavinia and Casca worked at opening the hatch to the outside world. We couldn't see when the hatch opened, but we could all smell the sweet, pine scented air that flooded into the tunnel. I couldn't get enough of it, and neither could Johanna.

I caught a quick glimpse of her face as she sucked in one lungful after another, her eyes screwed tightly shut, a single tear trickling down her cheek as she tasted air that reminded her of home. It didn't last, though. Her eyes popped open as if she knew I was watching her, and she shot me a look of warning as she wiped the lone tear from her face.

I grinned at her. _Your secret is safe with me, Jo._

Casca tapped me on the arm. "Follow me up," he said softly.

I nodded, and waited at the foot of the ladder until he was a few rungs over my head before slowly and painfully climbing out of the dank, airless sewer into the sweet, fresh air of the world above.

 **PART VI**

" _President Snow?"_

 _Coriolanus Snow awakened instantly from his light sleep. He always slept very lightly. This ability had served him well for his entire life. And now, with Panem in the throes of yet another civil war, his sleep patterns were even more erratic._

 _Snow rolled over and tapped the light control on the headboard. A soft glow instantly filled the room. He raised up on his elbows and looked at the man that had awakened him. "What is it, Spartacus?"_

" _Sir," the man called Spartacus replied hesitantly, "we have a…situation."_

 _Snow sighed irritably and swung his feet out off of the bed. An Avox servant seemed to appear from nowhere, laying a pair of slippers by Snow's feet and holding a warmed robe open. "We are at war, Spartacus," Snow said patiently. "We have many…situations."_

" _Yes, sir," the man replied nervously. "I don't know where to begin."_

 _Snow rose to his feet and slipped the robe on. "At the beginning, perhaps?" he prompted, feeling his patience slipping away. Snow walked out of his bedroom and beckoned Spartacus to follow._

" _Thirty minutes ago," Spartacus began as they walked through the Palace, "the bodies of two Peacekeepers were discovered by a security guard making his rounds in the warehouse district. They had both been shot, once, in the head. They had been stripped down to their underwear."_

" _Rebels," Snow said. "I'm not surprised."_

" _There's more, sir. One of our Presidential Fleet sedans was discovered near the bodies. It had been checked out to Casca Bishop earlier this evening."_

 _Snow paused at the entrance to his private office. "Casca?" The surprise was evident in his voice._

" _Yes, sir," Spartacus continued. "In the sedan, a small amount of money, personal indicia, and three personal phones were discovered. The phones had been crushed by some sort of blunt object."_

" _I assume, Spartacus, that the phones are being examined by forensic technicians?" Snow said as he sat down heavily._

" _Yes, sir." Spartacus paused. "Sir, that's not all."_

 _Snow leaned back in his chair. "I didn't think it was," he said with a sigh. He made a "get on with it" gesture._

" _The dead Peacekeepers were identified by their tattoos as being assigned to the Prisoner Transport unit at the prison." Peacekeepers were tattooed on the shoulder blade with an identifying mark once they were sworn in to service._

" _Transport Peacekeepers?" Snow's eyebrows arched in surprise._

" _Yes, sir. They were both on duty tonight. They had both been detailed to a transport." Spartacus paused. "A transport that you ordered, President Snow."_

" _I ordered no transport. This order was a forgery!" Snow sat up. "Spartacus, tell me, who did I allegedly order transported?"_

 _Spartacus took a deep breath. "The Victors."_

" _Which ones?" Snow asked, as a cold knot began to form in his stomach._

" _All of them, sir," Spartacus reluctantly replied._

* * *

"Don't take this personally, Hero," Cashmere said as the Peacekeeper truck bounced over yet another bump on the forest trail, "but you really stink."

I didn't take it personally, because she was right. I stunk. In fact, we all stunk. The stench from the sewer clung to everyone and everything that it touched.

Casca and Johanna, continuing their masquerade as Peacekeepers, rode in the cab of the armored truck, although, by this point, they would fool no one. Their uniforms were filthy and smelled as bad as the rest of us. Still, to a casual observer –

"How much further, do you think?" Shocked, I turned and faced Annie Cresta. Those were her first words in hours.

"I don't know, Annie," I replied gently, "Not too far, I imagine." Casca had a crude electronic map, provided by none other than Lavinia, that he was using as a guide…but he had admitted that most of his navigation would be based on compass headings and distance traveled. Truthfully, I had no idea how much further…or even if we were going in the right direction.

It was well past midnight now. There was a growing uncomfortable pressure in my bladder and, from the pained expressions of some of my fellow travelers, I wasn't the only one. At least the back of the armored truck was much more comfortable than the van. That being said, a call of nature was just that, and I would have answer that call soon.

Casca chose that moment to slide open the divider that separated us from the cab. "Got it!" His voice had a triumphant ring to it.

"Got what?" Gloss grumbled. "A screaming case of piles from this shitty trail?"

"The beacon," Casca explained excitedly. "It was designed to trigger once we were within ten kilometers of the pick-up zone. We're almost there!" He immediately slowed, then stopped, the truck.

"Why did we stop?" Johanna demanded.

"I have to sync my map to the signal," Casca explained. "The beacon will only transmit five-second bursts every ten seconds for two minutes, and then it shuts down. It's a security measure," he added.

Two minutes. "Pee break," I announced. Enobaria, who was sitting closest to the door, quickly unlatched it. "You go first," she said. She nodded her head towards Speri. "I'll watch her."

I didn't argue. Thirty seconds later I was blissfully relieving myself against a nearby tree. From the satisfied groans all around me, I wasn't the only one. I finished my business quickly and climbed back into the truck so Enobaria could take care of business. As I settled back into my seat, I glanced at Speri, who had spent the trip huddled in a corner, her back to the rest of us.

"Speri," I said softly, "if you need to go –"

"Don't call me that!" she snarled.

"What? 'Speri?' It's your name, right?"

"My friends call me that," she spat. "And that's not you."

"Well," I continued, "if you need –"

"I don't."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Let's load up!" Casca called out. I scooted up near the divider and looked in the cab. "Hurry it up, Johanna," Casca urged.

Johanna climbed back into the cab. "Shit," she muttered, "a lady can't even use the powder room in peace anymore."

"Shut up," Casca ordered. He pulled a small electronic device from his pocket. "I need to make a call before we get going."

"A call?" I asked.

Casca ignored me as he turned the device on and then raised it to his mouth. "Stylist, Stylist," he said softly, "this is Jabberjay."

"Copy, Jabberjay." Boggs' voice came through loud and clear. I felt a sudden rush of tears sting my eyes at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Dandelion. I say again, Dandelion." Casca glanced over at Johanna and smiled.

"Copy Dandelion," Boggs repeated. "See you soon. Stylist out."

"That's it," Casca said, as he started the truck. He turned around. "Everyone accounted for?"

"We're all here," Cashmere replied. "Let's go."

Casca didn't reply. The truck lurched forward and we began to move again. I sat back nervously. We were so close. _So close._ And, aside from the glitch with Casca's Rebel Peacekeepers, everything had gone just the way Casca had explained. Even this Peacekeeper armored transport was where it was supposed to be…and that could not have been an easy thing to arrange.

I glanced around at the others. Everyone seemed to have visibly relaxed. Outwardly, I was as calm as they seemed to be. Inwardly, my guts were churning. It had been too easy. _Something_ was bound to fuck up.

* * *

" _We've located the transport van, President Snow," Spartacus announced._

 _Snow glanced up from a report on his desk. "Where?"_

" _The Trajan Industrial Park." Spartacus tapped the screen of his PADD and leaned over Coriolanus Snow. "Here," he added, pointing at a spot on the map that was displayed on the screen._

" _Any sign of the occupants?" Snow asked, even though he already knew the answer._

 _Spartacus shook his head. "No, sir. Casca Bishop is missing as well. We checked his home. It doesn't appear that he has been there at all today."_

" _I can't believe that I never saw –" Snow murmured. He sat up suddenly. "Never mind." His finger jabbed at the map. "This road leads into the mountains?"_

 _Spartacus nodded. "Yes, sir. With a checkpoint a kilometer outside the Capitol. But the detail there reports seeing no one, and Peacekeeper patrols have reported nothing unusual."_

 _Snow grunted in frustration. "Do you suppose they all sprouted wings, Spartacus? Perhaps they simply flew away."_

" _Sir," Spartacus said uncomfortably, "we've conducted a thorough search of Trajan Park. Nothing is amiss. Nothing could have gotten past the checkpoint. And the checkpoint monitors sensors all throughout that area. Even forest animals trigger alarms."_

" _But tonight, nothing," Snow pointed out._

" _No, sir," Spartacus said unhappily. "According to the checkpoint officer-in-charge, they detected anomalous vibrations a kilometer west of the checkpoint. They checked it out, per standard operating procedure, but found nothing."_

" _Define, Spartacus, if you will," Snow said, almost conversationally, "what an 'anomalous vibration' is."_

" _I asked the OIC," Spartacus said quickly. "She described it as something disturbing the sensors that isn't human or animal. Some sort of unknown ground vibration."_

 _Snow stared at the map thoughtfully. "Can you overlay everything…surface roads as well as utilities…that pass through Trajan Park and out of the city limits?"_

" _Yes, sir." Spartacus tapped his PADD screen and displayed the results for Snow. The area map all but disappeared under a multi-colored jumble of lines radiating out beyond the city limits._

 _Snow nodded thoughtfully. "Eliminate power, natural gas, and water." Spartacus tapped the screen of his PADD and the majority of the lines disappeared, leaving a handful of yellow lines radiating from Trajan Park outward._

" _What are those lines?" Snow asked._

 _Spartacus peered at his screen. "Sewer, Mr. President."_

" _Zoom out. Show the spot where these 'anomalous vibrations' took place." Spartacus complied. One of the yellow lines on the map perfectly bisected the spot where the vibrations were detected._

 _Snow examined the map intently. "Where does this sewer line end?"_

" _A treatment plant a few kilometers outside the city," Spartacus replied._

 _Snow stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Show me."_

 _Spartacus touched a control on the PADD and the map zoomed out. "The treatment plant is here, Mr. President."_

 _With one finger, Snow traced the sewer line, lingering over the spot where the vibration was detected. "The elevation changes, Spartacus. A gradual rise all the way into the wilderness. How does the sewage run uphill from the city to the treatment plant?"_

" _I…I don't know, sir."_

 _Snow smiled for the first time. "I do. It's moved by pumping stations. And pumping stations must have access to the sewer line." Snow's finger traced back to the industrial park. "Here," he tapped the screen. "Here is a pumping station." His finger continued to move. "And here," he continued, "is another, just about a kilometer past where the 'anomalous vibration' was detected."_

 _Spartacus stared wide-eyed at the map. "They escaped through the sewer."_

 _Snow leaned back and steepled his fingers under his chin. "Admittedly, a somewhat noxious way to travel. Spartacus, concentrate search efforts in this area here." Snow described an arc across the upper portion of the map. "I want hovercraft and mounted patrols. They're on foot and they have not traveled far. However, they had to have had help beyond what aid Casca Bishop –" Snow practically spit the name "– could render. Instruct the search teams to be alert for unauthorized hovercraft in the area."_

" _Yes, Mr. President," Spartacus said as he picked up the phone on Snow's desk._

" _Spartacus?"_

 _Spartacus paused in mid-dial. "Sir?"_

 _Snow's eyes narrowed slightly. "Find them."_

* * *

 _Boggs put the headset down and turned to face Katniss. "They're ten kilometers out and closing. And he's with them, Katniss. Peeta is on his way."_

 _Katniss stared at Boggs for a moment, her face frozen in an impassive mask. "Peeta," she finally whispered. "Peeta is with them."_

 _Everything that Katniss had kept bottled up deep inside came bubbling to the surface. Her bow fell with a clatter to the deck of the hovercraft and she leaned forward, face buried in her hands as she quietly sobbed. Wordlessly, Boggs rose from his place at the radio and sat next to Katniss, wrapping one arm around her shaking shoulders._

 _Boggs at first didn't notice the pilot standing nearby. "Colonel," she said softly._

 _Boggs glanced up at the pilot. "Give us a minute."_

 _The pilot shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Sir, you need to see this."_

 _Katniss raised her head, clumsily wiped her eyes, and sniffed loudly. "Go on," she said hoarsely. "I'm okay. And thanks."_

 _Boggs rose from his seat. He patted Katniss on the shoulder, and then followed the pilot up to the cockpit. "Okay. What's so damned important?"_

" _This," the pilot said, indicating a radar screen. As Boggs watched, a blip flashed brightly, faded, then flashed again. He frowned and turned to the pilot. "A Capitol hovercraft," he said. "Have you determined its course?"_

" _Hard to say, sir," the pilot replied. "We're getting a shitload of clutter from this terrain. Our range is limited."_

" _Could be on a routine patrol flight," Boggs mused as he watched the blip on the screen._

 _The pilot shook her head. "We think it's flying a search pattern. That would mean more than one."_

 _Boggs felt a cold knot of fear grip his insides. "They know."_

 _The pilot looked grim. "That's a fair assumption, sir." She turned to her co-pilot. "Kill the radar."_

" _What?" Boggs looked at the pilot in disbelief. "But we'll be blind!"_

" _They can't see us with IR, or UV, or their own radar, Colonel," the pilot explained. "But they could track the source of our radar. Don't worry, sir. If they scan with their own radar, we'll pick it up and keep tabs on them that way."_

 _Boggs shook his head. "I don't like it, but you have a point." He raised his voice. "Jackson!"_

 _Lieutenant Jackson appeared a moment later. "Sir?"_

" _Alert the perimeter." He quickly briefed her on the presence of the Capitol hovercraft. "We don't have surface to air capability, do we?" Boggs asked._

" _No, sir." Jackson looked uncomfortable. "We didn't expect to have to engage any aerial threats."_

" _Wrong." Boggs and Jackson turned to see Katniss standing just outside the cockpit. She raised her bow. "You have me." Katniss shook her head. "I called it, didn't I? About everything going to shit."_

" _How much did you hear?" Jackson asked._

" _Enough."_

 _Boggs regarded Katniss carefully. "What exactly do you expect to do with a bow against a hovercraft?"_

" _Shoot it down," Katniss replied matter-of-factly. "I have explosive arrows, and I used to hit geese on the fly back home when I hunted for food. And a hovercraft is a larger target."_

 _Boggs hesitated. "Boggs, please. I need to do this. I need to help," Katniss said, her tone pleading._

 _Boggs shook his head. "Get out there. Jackson will show you where to set up."_

 _Katniss kept her face impassive. "Thanks, Boggs."_

 _Boggs watched Katniss and Jackson disappear into the cold night. "And don't get yourself killed," he murmured. "Coin will have my ass if you do."_

 **PART VII**

" _Search One, this is Search Two. Over."_

" _Go ahead, Search Two."_

" _I've got something on infrared scanner. A vehicle, configuration Peacekeeper armored transport, moving on a heading of zero five zero degrees, velocity is between twenty and twenty-five."_

" _Search Two, be advised that there are no ground search teams this far in. Track vehicle but do not engage. I say again, do not engage."_

" _Copy, Search One. Search Two out."_

* * *

" _President Snow?"_

 _Snow spoke quietly into the telephone. "One moment." He turned and saw Spartacus standing just inside his private office. "You have news?"_

" _Yes, sir. Aerial search has located a vehicle in the wilderness, heading roughly northeast. It's well ahead of the ground search teams." Spartacus paused. "I checked with the Security Ministry. A Peacekeeper armored transport was reported as 'missing' two days ago. This may be the same vehicle."_

 _Snow nodded. "Excellent. Order our hovercraft crews not to engage this vehicle. I want them alive."_

" _They know, sir. They are continuing to track it." Spartacus paused, obviously uneasy. "Sir, there's something else."_

" _Out with it, Spartacus."_

" _Our forensic technicians have examined the personal phones found in the sedan, sir. They have determined the owners of these phones."_

 _Snow arched his eyebrows. "Well?"_

" _The owners are Casca Bishop, Sperantia Blackstone…and Andromeda Snow, sir."_

 _For a long moment, Snow stared at Spartacus, as if he was trying to comprehend what he had just been told. Slowly, he replaced the phone in its cradle, the purpose of the call forgotten._

" _Sir," Spartacus began, "I –"_

 _Snow raised one hand and Spartacus immediately ceased talking. Slowly, he reached his hand across the desk and pressed a single button. He was immediately connected to the night housekeeping staff. "Yes, Mr. President?"_

" _Send someone to my granddaughter's room immediately," Snow ordered. "Report back to me if anything is…amiss."_

" _Yes, sir."_

" _Shall I contact Minister Blackstone, sir?" Spartacus asked._

" _In good time, Spartacus." At that moment Snow's desk intercom buzzed. Snow answered immediately. "Well?"_

" _Andromeda Snow is not in her bedroom, sir. And it doesn't appear that her bed has been slept in."_

 _Snow's clenched fist came down on the intercom control. "Spartacus," he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly, "You may now contact Minister Blackstone. Inform him that I wish to see him in thirty minutes."_

" _That son of a bitch has my granddaughter," he muttered savagely as Spartacus spoke urgently to Minister Blackstone._

 _The conversation with Minister Blackstone was short. After hanging up the phone, Spartacus turned to Snow. "The minister will be here inside of thirty minutes, sir."_

 _Snow looked up at Spartacus. "I want that vehicle stopped. I want ground teams inserted to intercept and disable the vehicle. And I want the enemy hovercraft located. Now."_

" _Yes, sir."_

* * *

" _Did you see that?" Johanna asked urgently._

 _Casca Bishop was concentrating on navigating the armored truck over increasingly rough terrain. "See what?" he asked irritably._

 _Johanna peered out the windshield, her neck arched back, as she scanned the treetops. "There!" She pointed and Casca slowed to a crawl as his eyes followed her pointing finger._

 _Even wearing night vision goggles, he almost missed what Johanna was pointing at. It was only when the black shape blotted out the stars that shone intermittently through the trees did he finally make out what she had been the first to see._

" _I see it," he said grimly. "It's a hovercraft."_

" _Is it looking for us?" Johanna asked._

" _It's not looking anymore," Casca replied grimly. "It's seen us."_

 _Johanna sat back in her seat. Their truck was armored, but unarmed. Their only weapons were three pistols – useless against the aerial threat now hovering over them. "Well, fuck me," she muttered._

" _It can't land," Casca said. "The forest is too thick here. I think we're –"_

 _Casca never finished his sentence as a burst of machine-gun fire tore into the forest just a few meters ahead of the truck, the light from the reddish-orange tracer bullets nearly blinding from the near miss. Casca cursed and swerved, never stopping as Johanna let out a quick scream of surprise…or fright._

 _Even more surprised was what happened next. "Attention," a voice crackled from the truck's radio. "Attention in the truck. By order of President Snow, you are directed to stop immediately and await contact. Peacekeepers are enroute to your location. Surrender and you will not be harmed."_

" _My ass," Casca muttered savagely. He grabbed the microphone. "We have hostages," he barked. "Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone. Withdraw immediately and we won't hurt them."_

" _Hostages?" Johanna asked with raised eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure Baby Snow is here willingly."_

" _We need time," Casca explained impatiently. "Open the back."_

 _Johanna turned and slid the divider open. "Miss Andromeda," Casca called out._

" _Here." Andromeda's face appeared in the opening. "That was a machine-gun, wasn't it?"_

 _Casca glanced in the rear-view mirror. Andromeda's face showed fear, but her voice was steady. "Yes. We're being tracked by a Capitol hovercraft." He paused. "I just told them you were a hostage."_

 _Andromeda nodded solemnly. "I'll talk to them, if you want."_

 _Casca allowed himself a grim smile. "Good girl," he said, as he passed her the microphone._

 _Andromeda took it in one hand and wet her lips. Casca could see her hand trembling very slightly as she depressed the key on the side of the microphone. "This is Andromeda Snow," she announced. "Don't shoot! They've taken me and Sperantia Blackstone. They said they will kill –"_

" _It's a lie!" Sperantia Blackstone shouted. "She's a Rebel! She –"_

 _Speri's voice was suddenly cut off by Gloss's arm locking around her throat. "Go ahead," he hissed. "Be a hero. It's the last fucking thing you will ever do, I promise you that."_

" _That's enough!" Casca snapped. To Andromeda, he said gently, "You did fine. Give me the mic."_

 _Andromeda was staring wide-eyed at Gloss holding Speri as she wordlessly passed the microphone back to Casca, who keyed it and said, "Did you get that?"_

 _There was a long pause. Then, finally, a single terse word came over the radio. "Copy."_

 _Casca threw down the microphone. "Keep an eye on them," he told Johanna. "We're not safe quite yet."_

* * *

" _Search One, this is Two. Did you copy that? Over."_

" _Roger. That jives with the report of the President's granddaughter being kidnapped. We've alerted command. Stay on station but_ do not engage _. Over."_

" _Wilco, Search One."_

" _Break. Search elements, this is Search Three. I've got a fix on the enemy hovercraft. Six kilometers north by east from Search Two's location, on a heading of zero four zero. Very faint IR signature, possibly troops. Hovercraft on the ground confirmed by visual sighting. Engaging. Over."_

" _Search Three,_ negative. _Do_ not _engage! Confirm. Over."_

" _Search One, this is Two. Three is engaging a target on the ground in the vicinity of last reported position. Over."_

" _Shit! Uh, I mean, copy, Two. Break. Search Three, disengage,_ now _!"_

"– _hit! I say again, Three is hit! We're going do –"_

" _Three, this is One. Say again last, over."_

" _One, this is Two. Three's hit and he's gone in. Over."_

" _Copy. Out."_

* * *

" _Do you see them?" Katniss asked._

" _No, but I can sure as shit_ hear _them," Jackson replied softly. At that moment a line of reddish-orange tracer bullets seemed to erupt from the sky itself, slamming into the perimeter as the noise of the firing reached Katniss and Jackson._

" _Incoming!" someone shouted needlessly. Next was a cry of pain, followed by the frantic shouts of "Medic! Medic!"_

" _They're targeting the hovercraft!" Jackson shouted. She raised her wrist and spoke frantically into her commicuff. "This is Jackson. We're taking fire out here. Prep for immediate dust-off!"_

 _Katniss grabbed Jackson's shoulder. "We can't leave. Not without Peeta!" She flinched as another burst of fire exploded from the sky, even closer than the last. "Son of a bitch," she muttered savagely as she crouched down, releasing Jackson as her hand groped for an arrow._

" _Katniss," Jackson said, her mouth close to Katniss's ear, "if we lose the hovercraft, we lose Peeta and the rest. We have to –"_

" _Shut up and spot for me," Katniss snapped as she nocked the arrow to her bow. She couldn't see the tip, but she knew from the weight it was one of her explosive-tipped shafts._

 _Jackson hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Shit. I never expected to survive this war anyway."_

 _Behind them, they could hear the whine of the turbo-props as the hovercraft came to life. There was shooting from their own perimeter now, as the security squad returned fire ineffectually with their carbines at the black menacing shape in the sky. Another burst of fire from the orbiting hovercraft, another cry of pain from down below, and Jackson tapped Katniss on the arm, pointing as the tracers lanced from the sky._

 _Katniss didn't hesitate. She whirled, drew the arrow back, and let fly in a single smooth motion._

 _A brilliant orange flower bloomed in the sky, and, as Katniss and Jackson watched, the hovercraft tilted crazily, righted itself, and then nosed forward and slammed into the ground, so close that they could both feel the heat and concussion from the explosion._

* * *

" _Holy fuck."_

 _Johanna stared as the fireball from the exploding hovercraft slowly faded. As nearly as she could tell, it was directly to their front. She turned towards Casca. "That wasn't ours, was it?"_

 _Casca shook his head. "Doubtful," he replied grimly as they bounced over the forest trail. "Hang on back there," he called out. "It's gonna get bumpy. We're almost there."_

 _Johanna looked sharply at Casca. "How do you know it wasn't ours?"_

 _Casca never took his eyes off of the trail as he drove. "We can't go back. We're committed. Sure as shit there's mounted units behind us, closing in. If it was ours, then we're dead, plain and simple. We can't play the 'hostage' card forever, especially if we have no place to go. So we push on and take our chances. Now, shut up. I need to concentrate."_

 _Johanna shut up._

* * *

" _Jackson, this is Leeg. I have a vehicle inbound my position, distance is one hundred meters and closing."_

 _Jackson glanced at Katniss. "It's them," she said softly. She spoke into her commicuff. "Copy, Charlie Team. Break. Alpha and Bravo Teams, pull back to the hovercraft. Charlie Team, stay on station and assist the inbound vehicle."_

" _Copy that." The voice was Sergeant Homes. "Be advised, both Alpha and Bravo have one WIA each. Medics are out with them but they're both litter cases."_

" _We're aware, Bravo Team. Break. Alpha Team Leader, coordinate with Bravo Team for casualty collection."_

" _This is Homes. I've got both teams. Duffy was one of the WIA."_

" _Roger that." Jackson looked at Katniss. "Two wounded. Could have been worse."_

 _Katniss nodded. "Who was the other –"_

 _Jackson's commicuff crackled. "This is Leeg. I'm in contact with the truck. Jabberjay is driving, all six prisoners are shaken up but unhurt. Two civilians also…teenage Capitol girls."_

" _Bring 'em in, Leeg," Jackson ordered. She turned towards Katniss and then looked away quickly._

 _After all, Jackson was a soldier, and she thought of Katniss as a soldier. And Jackson was sure that Katniss didn't want another soldier to see her crying openly._

 **PART VIII**

 _Security Minister Blackstone stared in disbelief at President Coriolanus Snow. "Sir?"_

" _You heard me, Blackstone," Snow said wearily. "Let them go. Unmolested."_

" _But…but, Mr. President," Blackstone sputtered. "My daughter…_ your _granddaughter –"_

" _Are alive, Blackstone," Snow pointed out. "And I intend to keep them that way. But they won't be, if I interfere." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Do I make myself clear?"_

" _Yes, sir," Blackstone whispered. He slowly rose to his feet. "I'll transmit the order, sir."_

 _Snow watched him shuffle slowly out of the office._ He has the look of a defeated man, _he said to himself._ I, however, am _not_ a defeated man. And I intend to prove that point at the earliest opportunity. This "Rebellion" will pay dearly for violating my home…my family!

" _And Casca Bishop owes me a debt that he can only pay with his blood," Snow whispered, as his hand slowly crushed the single white rose that he had been holding._

* * *

"Let's go, let's go!" Leeg's familiar voice rang out loudly as we piled out of the back of the armored truck. I could just make out the open ramp of a large hovercraft through the door, as District Thirteen soldiers hustled us out of the truck and across the short distance to the hovercraft.

I gestured to Lavinia. _Go on._

She shook her head and smiled at me. _You first._

I returned her smile, stood up, and, hunched over, ducked through the door and stepped out into the forest beyond. Leeg greeted me with a grin. "Welcome home, Soldier Mellark."

"Thanks, Leeg," I replied gratefully. Off to one side, I could see Casca in animated conversation with Boggs and Jackson. Boggs acknowledged me with a nod of his head and a smile, which, for him, almost counted as an emotional display. I waved and turned to board the hovercraft – and I was knocked off my feet by a dark-haired tornado that slammed bodily into me, driving me into the hard, cold, forest floor.

"What do I gotta do to keep you outta trouble?" Katniss choked out when she finally pulled her mouth off of mine. I could feel the wetness of her tears on my cheeks – or maybe it was my own tears that were getting _her_ face wet. "I need to put you someplace safe so you can't get hurt anymore."

"I'm sorry, Katniss," I replied softly. I still couldn't believe that she was actually here, and that Coin herself approved her participation. It didn't matter, though. Nothing mattered but holding this wonderful girl to me as tightly as I could. "It wasn't exactly my idea –"

"Shut up," Katniss said – and she used her lips to make sure that I didn't say another word.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

 **PART I**

During our cross-country trek, when rescue seemed not just possible but imminent, I had allowed myself a few brief moments to visualize what the return flight to District Thirteen would be like. I admit that my fantasies were a bit rosy, consisting mostly of images of Katniss holding me, Katniss kissing me, and Katniss actually allowing herself to show her emotions, which was a rarity in itself.

What actually happened, of course, was nowhere near what I had allowed myself to fantasize.

Katniss was still on top of me, pinning me to the ground with her enthusiastic greeting, when Jackson's voice cut through the din. "Everdeen! Katniss Everdeen!"

Katniss reluctantly pulled her mouth from mine, sighed, and turned her head. "Over here, Jackson."

"We need your help," Jackson said urgently as she ran up to Katniss and I. "With the wounded. Over there." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

"On my way," Katniss said as she stood up, and then paused to help me up. "Sorry," she murmured. "Duty calls."

"It's okay." I swayed a bit as I regained my feet, causing Katniss to grab my arm protectively.

"Come on, Katniss," Jackson barked. She then seemed to notice me for the first time. "Peeta. Are you injured?"

"A little weak," I admitted. "Hello, Jackson."

Jackson ignored the greeting. "Then get on the hovercraft. _Now_ , soldier!"

Jackson didn't wait for me to comply. She spun around, tapped Katniss on the shoulder, and together they hurried off. Another soldier – one that I didn't recognize – materialized next to me and gently took my arm. "Come on, soldier," he said softly. "Let's get you aboard."

I allowed myself to be led up the ramp and seated on one of the webbed jump seats. As soon as I sat down the tension seemed to drain from my body and suddenly it was all I could do to keep my eyes open, in spite of the flurry of activity around me. Of course, it didn't last.

I saw that the Career Victors were lumped together across from me, under the watchful eye of a pair of armed District Thirteen soldiers. Annie Cresta was seated near me, once again huddled up into a ball. I couldn't blame her…everything was more than a little overwhelming. I was just about to make a move towards Annie, to see if I could offer her anything in the way of comfort, when Lavinia slipped by me, gave me a quick smile, and slid into the seat next to Annie's and began to stroke her back and hair.

The sight of the red-haired Avox girl comforting poor, damaged Annie Cresta was incredibly touching, and her gentle caresses seemed to have a positive effect on Annie, as she began to visibly relax. Lavinia caught my eye briefly and I gave her an encouraging smile and a nod.

 _Where's Katniss?_ I looked around but she was still outside, helping the other soldiers, as well as the medics, with the wounded. I was aware of some grumbling from the Career Victors – obviously they resented being "freed," only to be placed under guard as soon as they had been seated on the hovercraft – but they had all been given water and combat rations, so it wasn't exactly like they were being mistreated. My own water and food pack sat on the empty seat next to me, untouched.

A figure in a Peacekeeper's uniform sat down heavily next to me, almost on top of my water and food pack. Johanna Mason tugged off the white helmet and tossed it to the floor carelessly before doing the same with her gloves. "Nice hovercraft," she muttered as she looked around. "Makes the ones that they used to transport us cattle to the Games look luxurious by comparison." She glanced up and saw one of the soldiers that had been guarding the Career Victors watching her closely, gripping his carbine tightly.

"What, you think I'm a real Peacekeeper or something?" Johanna barked out a short, humorless laugh. "Relax, kid." She ran her fingers through her short, spiky black hair and leaned back. "Of course," she added teasingly, "if it really offends you, I can always take this uniform off."

"Knock it off, Jo," I hissed. "The people in Thirteen are pretty black and white. Not much in the sense of humor department."

"Fine, fine," Johanna chuckled. I noticed now that the soldier was making a point not to even glance in Johanna's direction, and I'm sure that she managed to embarrass him. "I was just having a little fun, Handsome." She looked around the hovercraft. "So we're really going to District Thirteen, huh?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Soon, I hope. Have you seen Katniss?"

Johanna jerked her head towards the open ramp. "She's outside helping with the wounded. There was some confusion as to how many of their people were hit. Looks like they had three litters on the ground. Your girlfriend was helping with one of them. She looked pretty upset."

I frowned at this news. "Upset? Why?"

Johanna shrugged as we watched a pair of soldiers carry Andromeda Snow's friend onto the hovercraft and dump her unceremoniously on the floor near the Career Victors. "Who knows? The kid on the stretcher looked to be in rough shape." She shook her head and the girl on the floor – apparently drugged - moaned slightly but otherwise didn't move. "I didn't know that District Thirteen soldiers were as young as Games Tributes. This kid didn't even look old enough to shave."

Before I could reply Boggs stuck his head into the hovercraft. "Wind it up!" he shouted. "We're wheels up in three!"

The hovercraft suddenly trembled as the engines purred to life. There was a sudden flurry of activity at the ramp as the three stretchers were brought aboard and hustled to the front. As the last one passed me I saw Katniss walking beside it, clutching the wounded soldier's hand tightly, her face tear-streaked but now carefully controlled. I had recognized the first two wounded soldiers that they had brought aboard – Staff Sergeant Duffy and the former Community Home kid, July Barrow – but this one had too much blood on his face to be easily recognizable.

"Katniss," I said softly as she passed me, "who is it?"

The sound of my voice seemed to snap Katniss out of her fog. She looked down at me, her chin trembling, and all but whispered, "Oh, Peeta. It's Rory Hawthorne."

* * *

" _What do you mean, you don't have any whole blood?"_

 _The senior medic looked helplessly at Boggs. "Whole blood requires refrigeration, Colonel," she explained. "Plasma and saline do not. Besides, we were told in planning that no trouble was expected."_

" _Piss-poor planning, if you ask me," Boggs snapped. "You_ always _plan for the worst!"_

" _Colonel," the medic explained patiently, "there's no way we could carry enough blood of each type to do any good, even if we had refrigeration. We can push plasma and saline into Hawthorne…that should keep him alive until we reach Thirteen."_

" _And if it isn't?" Boggs asked sharply._

 _The medic shakily wiped her forehead with the back of one bloody hand, leaving a red streak behind. "We've got his bleeding controlled. And there is one other option, if it comes to that. We can do a direct transfusion, from a healthy soldier straight into Hawthorne. We would be able to pump maybe half a liter into him that way."_

 _Boggs sighed heavily. "I'll do it," he said. "Can he take type 'A positive' blood?"_

 _The medic shook her head. "He's type 'B negative,' Colonel. We'll double check on the hovercraft. We'll get a donor if there's one to be had."_

" _I hope so," Boggs said slowly. He pointed at Katniss Everdeen, now kneeling on the ground next to Rory Hawthorne's broken body. "His brother was the Mockingjay's district partner in The Hunger Games. He sacrificed himself to save her."_

" _I know, Colonel," the medic said quietly. "We'll do everything that we can."_

 _A pair of soldiers approached Boggs at that moment, carrying the limp form of a young girl between them. "Colonel, what do you want us to do with her?" one asked._

 _Boggs frowned. "Who –"_

" _That's Minister Blackstone's daughter, Colonel." Casca Bishop had been standing off to one side, mostly trying to stay out of the way…until now. "Sperantia Blackstone. Unlike Andromeda Snow, she's an unwilling participant here."_

 _Boggs peered at the girl. "Is she drugged?"_

 _One of the soldiers nodded. "Yes, sir. She was kicking up a fuss. One of the medics hit her with a sedative to quiet her down."_

 _Boggs snorted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Dump her inside. Put her with the Career Victors. Keep her under guard."_

 _Boggs turned back to the medic as the pair of soldiers carried Sperantia Blackstone into the hovercraft. "Okay. Let's get them loaded and out of here." He glanced up at the star-speckled sky, just barely able to make out the shape of a hovercraft orbiting nearby._ They won't try anything, _Boggs said to himself._ Not with Snow's granddaughter on our hovercraft.

 _Jackson trotted up to Boggs. "Everyone accounted for, sir, and the bird is loaded, except for the litter cases."_

 _Boggs smiled grimly and clapped Jackson on the shoulder. "Get on board, Lieutenant." As the medics and stretcher bearers picked up their litters and moved towards the ramp, Boggs leaned into the hovercraft and shouted, "Wind it up! We're wheels up in three!"_

 _The hovercraft trembled as the engines whined into life. Boggs stepped onto the ramp, and then hesitated when he heard a low hissing sound behind him. He paused and turned to see Casca Bishop trotting towards him, the Peacekeeper transport blazing away merrily to the rear._

" _You're supposed to have been on board already," Boggs said accusingly._

 _Casca paused at the door. "Sorry," he said, not sounding all that sorry. "I didn't want to leave anything of value for our friends. I had a thermite grenade along for that very reason."_

 _Boggs gazed at Casca's impassive face._ Very highly placed in Snow's court. Chief of Security to the President of Panem. He's used to being in charge. _"Understood," Boggs replied gruffly. "But I'm in charge of this op. That means that_ you _are_ my _responsibility. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Bishop?"_

 _Casca's eyes narrowed slightly. "Perfectly, sir," he said after a moment, and then gestured towards the open door. "After you, Colonel?"_

" _In charge means being the last out," Boggs explained. "I'll follow you."_

 _Casca nodded, once, before stepping into the hovercraft, with Boggs following closely. The ramp began to rise even before Boggs had completely entered the hovercraft, and a change in the pitch of the engines, accompanied by a slight lurch, told Boggs that the hovercraft had begun to rise. Boggs made his way quickly to the cockpit, carefully stepping around the trio of stretchers now fastened firmly to the floor._

" _Best possible speed and most direct flight path back to Thirteen," Boggs ordered the pilot. "Don't bother with stealth mode. They know we're here."_

 _The hovercraft pivoted about and lurched forward suddenly, causing Boggs to grab for a handhold. "We have a shadow," the pilot said grimly, pointing at the radar screen._

" _How many?" Boggs asked in alarm._

" _Just one," the co-pilot replied as he examined the data. "Matching us for speed and altitude, range is twenty kilometers and holding."_

" _We'll lose him in a half-hour or so," the pilot explained. "We'll be out of Capitol territory in a few minutes, and it's a quick overflight across a piece of District Seven before we'll be over Ten."_

" _They won't risk flying over a contested district, much less a pacified district like Ten," Boggs predicted._

" _I can take care of them long before then," the pilot said as she fingered a covered switch. "We have aft-mounted air-to-air capability."_

" _No," Boggs ordered firmly. "I don't want to run the risk of them returning fire reflexively. Only fire if fired upon."_

" _Copy that," the pilot said, her voice tinged with disappointment as she moved her hand away from the covered switch._

 _Boggs put one hand gently on her shoulder. "Just get us all home in one piece, as quickly as you can."_

" _Yes, sir," the pilot murmured as she gripped the steering yoke tighter while the hovercraft raced through the night, heading for District Thirteen._

 **PART II**

"How's he doing?"

Awkwardly, I squatted next to Katniss. She was kneeling next to Rory's stretcher, having never left his side since we boarded. She was gripping his hand tightly as she turned her tear-streaked face up to mine.

"Peeta," she said softly, her brow furrowing as she reached out towards me, pulling my head to her shoulder with her free hand. "I'm so sorry. I should be back there with you. I –"

"Shhhh." I nuzzled her hair, inhaling her scent deeply. _Snow, she smells wonderful!_ "You stay here with Rory. I'm fine."

She pulled her head back and looked at my face closely. "My poor Peeta. You're so thin." She stroked my cheek gently before glancing back down at Rory. "He…he's hurt bad, Peeta. Really bad."

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.

The medic that had been working on Rory looked up at me. "Depends," he said. "Do you know your blood type?"

"Type A negative, I think," I replied, after thinking for a moment.

"Shit." He glanced at Katniss. "Sorry, Miss Everdeen."

Katniss's face fell. "It's okay," she muttered.

But it wasn't okay. Rory obviously needed a transfusion. "I assume you checked the other soldiers?" I asked.

The medic nodded grimly. "No-go. Ditto the flight crew, the other medics, and the camera crew."

"What about the Career Victors?" I pressed.

"No-go there too," the medic replied as he adjusted Rory's IV drip.

"And the others? Casca Bishop, Andromeda Snow, and that Blackstone girl?"

A light seemed to go off over his head. "I didn't even think of them," he admitted. "And we can type here on the hovercraft! There's a portable kit in the main aide bag."

The medic leaped to his feet and hurried over to one of the other medics, speaking to her in low, urgent tones. "Do you think it'll work?" Katniss asked.

"It's worth a try," I said with a shrug as I watched the two medics open a large, off-white bag, emblazoned on one side with a large red cross. One pulled a rectangular case out of the bag and together both medics hurried to the rear of the hovercraft.

They weren't gone long. After a few minutes, they returned, carrying a small, limp bundle between them. _It must be Meda's friend. Casca is much larger and he or Meda would have walked back anyway._ "We struck gold with this one," the senior of the two medics explained. "B negative. Perfect."

They dumped the bundle unceremoniously on the deck, and I was able to confirm my suspicions – it was, in fact, Sperantia Blackstone, Andromeda's best friend. The girl groaned slightly and her eyelids fluttered when she landed on the deck, but she never fully awakened. The two medics immediately went to work on her, extending one arm out and positioning her next to Rory. Working quickly, they wrapped a tourniquet around her arm, swabbed the bend in her elbow with an alcohol pad, and deftly inserted a needle, causing her to moan softly.

"Are they hurting her?" I turned to face the voice behind me. Andromeda Snow watched, wide-eyed, as the medics continued to work.

"She's still sedated," the female medic said. "Probably won't remember a thing."

"Will it help him?" Andromeda asked, pointing at Rory.

"It should," the female medic said. "Especially if we could give him, say, a liter rather than a half-liter." The woman looked knowingly at the other medic as she said this.

"A liter?" I glanced at the medics in amazement. "That would weaken her. It could even kill her."

The male medic shrugged. "What's one less Loyalist?"

"No!" Katniss snapped. "You give him a half-liter only. Is that clear?"

Both medics saw the same look in Katniss's eye that I did. "Yes, ma'am," the female medic murmured. "It's clear."

"Thank you, Katniss," Andromeda said softly.

Katniss looked up at Andromeda for the first time. "Hello, Andromeda," she said, allowing herself a small smile. "It's been a long time. And I should be thanking you."

Andromeda frowned. "For what?"

"For helping to bring Peeta back to me," Katniss explained quietly.

Andromeda looked embarrassed. I gave her a quick smile. "I'm sorry about your friend," she finally said, nodding down at Rory.

"He's more than just a friend," Katniss said, as Sperantia's blood began to flow through a clear plastic tube and into Rory's arm. "Do you remember my Games? This is my district partner's brother."

"I hope that he won't mind having a Loyalist's blood in him," Andromeda said.

"I learned a lot about blood, starting with my Games," Katniss said grimly. "And you want to know something? It's all red."

"Shit!" The sudden outburst caused me to jump slightly. A single medic was working on the body lying on the next litter over – the one occupied by July Barrow. "I got a bleeder here! I need a free hand _now_!"

"Kinda busy here," the female medic replied sharply. "What's the problem?"

"I need both hands to clamp off this guy's femoral artery, and I'm getting arterial blood from his shoulder now!" I noticed blood bubbling up from a wound in July's left shoulder.

"I'll be free in a minute," the other medic working on Rory said. "Just as soon as I –"

"I don't have a minute!" The medic said urgently.

"I'll do it," I said as I clumsily began to rise to my feet.

"No," Katniss said. "Look at you. You can barely stand." She turned to Andromeda. "Can you help?"

Andromeda blanched at the sight of the blood, but her voice held firm as she asked, "What do I have to do?"

The medic working on July glanced up at her. "Grab that dressing," he instructed, nodding his head at a plastic-wrapped package lying next to July's head. "Open it up. Be careful not to touch the white part…that's sterile. You'll put that over the wound."

Andromeda picked up the package and ripped it open. "Like this?" she asked, laying the dressing on her palm, white side up.

"Perfect," the medic said. "Now, you see where he's bleeding? Press the white part over where the blood is coming out. Press down hard. Hold it there until one of us can finish dressing him. Got that?"

Andromeda nodded and moved forward, her face almost as white as the dressing, but she didn't hesitate. Her hand barely trembling, she pressed the dressing over the bleeding wound and pressed down, watching with an expression of mingled horror and fascination as July's blood soaked through the bandage and stained her hands. I heard her let out a small squeal of dismay as July's blood covered her fingers, but she never once let up on the pressure that she was applying to the wound.

July moaned as Andromeda's hands pressed down and his eyes fluttered open. "Hurts," he rasped, as he grimaced in pain. "Oh, fuck."

"Can you give him something?" Katniss asked.

The medic working on him shook his head. "No morphling for either of these soldiers," he said. "At least not until we get the bleeding controlled and some fluids pumped into them. Morphling lowers blood pressure. In their state, it could send them both into deep shock. It could even kill them."

"What about him?" Katniss asked angrily, pointing at Staff Sergeant Duffy lying quietly on his stretcher. "You gave _him_ morphling!"

The medics all looked at each other uneasily before the female medic, who seemed to be the one in charge, replied. "We're keeping him comfortable," she explained. "He has massive head trauma. He won't survive long enough to get to the hospital."

"But we brought him along, nevertheless," a new voice said. Boggs stepped forward, carefully avoiding the stretchers. "We knew on the ground back there he wouldn't make it. But I'll be damned if I'm leaving any soldier behind."

"What would President Coin say?" Katniss asked bitterly. "Bringing along a dying man and wasting resources on him?"

"It's one thing to talk about 'wasting resources' in Command, far from the fighting," Boggs replied grimly. "But it's another when it's your own troops."

"Okay," the female medic said as she stood up. "I'm free." She knelt next to July Barrow's stretcher. "I'll take it from here."

The medic slid her hands over Andromeda's. "I got it," she said quietly as she began to tie the dressing in place. Andromeda sat back numbly, staring at her bloody hands until I reached over and handed her a towel.

Andromeda nodded her thanks and began to slowly and carefully wipe the blood from her hands as she watched the medics work quickly and professionally. "Okay, I got his femoral clamped off," the medic that had been working on July's leg said as he sat back. "How's his pressure?"

"Low, but starting to rise," the female medic said.

"Mine's stabilizing too," the medic with Rory chimed in.

"Good work, you three," Boggs said. "Stay with them." He paused and looked at Katniss and I. "Pretty ironic, huh? Two District Twelve soldiers saved by a pair of Capitol girls." Boggs smiled at Andromeda. "Nice work, young lady."

"Thank you," Andromeda murmured. "Can I stay up here with them?"

Boggs looked at the female medic, who shrugged and nodded. "Sure, if you want," he replied.

"Thank you," Andromeda said again as she settled into a seat near July.

"You should go back," Katniss murmured to me. "Find someplace to stretch out if you can. I'll be back in a bit."

"Okay," I agreed, once again almost overwhelmed by exhaustion. Katniss gave me a quick kiss and helped me up, before turning her attention once more to the battered body of Rory Hawthorne.

I made my way back to my seat and plopped down wearily. I noticed that Johanna and the Career Victors were quiet now, and Casca Bishop was huddled at the rear of the hovercraft with Jackson, where they were talking in low tones. Lavinia was still cradling Annie Cresta protectively, carrying on a sign-language conversation with an obviously smitten Pollux, while Castor and Messalla looked on in obvious amusement.

Wordlessly, Johanna handed me a bottle of water. "Thanks," I muttered as I took a long drink.

"How's everything going up front?" Johanna asked after I had drained the bottle.

"Fine." I looked at Johanna. "Rory and July are more dead than alive, and Staff Sergeant Duffy – my drill sergeant from when I was training to be a soldier – won't make it back to Thirteen alive."

The names meant nothing to Johanna. Despite that, she said, "I'm sorry."

I looked at her in surprise. She was leaning back in her seat with her eyes closed. "I'm so fucking sick of killing and blood," she muttered.

"So am I," I agreed. I closed my own eyes. And, despite the tension and fear, it didn't take me more than two minutes to fall asleep.

Staff Sergeant Duffy died someplace over District Ten.

 **PART III**

" _Madam President?"_

 _Alma Coin jerked out of the fitful doze that she had been in and looked up, blinking her eyes blearily. "Oh. Mr. Heavensbee. You have an update, I assume?"_

 _Plutarch Heavensbee nodded. "They're over inter-district lands between Districts Eleven and Eight. Boggs reports one confirmed KIA."_

 _Coin's jaw tightened. "Who?"_

" _Staff Sergeant Duffy, Madam President," Plutarch replied. "Boggs also reiterated the immediate need for two surgical teams to be standing by for the other wounded soldiers."_

 _Coin nodded. "The hospital has already been alerted. Do they still have their 'shadow?'"_

" _No, ma'am. The Capitol hovercraft came under fire as soon as it crossed into District Ten. It broke contact and headed back towards the Capitol before our forces could shoot it down."_

" _And what of Peeta Mellark's condition?" Coin asked._

" _He hasn't sought out medical treatment," Plutarch said. "Boggs reported that he's weak, and possibly suffering from malnutrition. He also said that Peeta hasn't fully recovered from the injuries that he sustained while in captivity." Plutarch paused for a moment. "He'll probably resist, but it would be a good idea to have a medical team standing by for Peeta Mellark as well."_

" _Resist?" Coin frowned. "Why? If he's in such a weakened state –"_

" _Two words, Madam President," Plutarch replied with a half-smile. "Katniss Everdeen."_

 _The fact that Coin didn't smile wasn't lost on Plutarch Heavensbee. "Mellark goes straight from the flight line to the hospital, Mr. Heavensbee. I want him well enough to begin shooting propos. And if the Mockingjay objects, remind her that I was the one that allowed her participation in the rescue. Quid pro quo, Heavensbee. Quid pro quo."_

She didn't sound like Alma Coin just then, _Plutarch thought._ She sounded like Coriolanus Snow. _But all he said was, "Yes, Madam President."_

" _This war is far from over, Heavensbee," Coin continued. "We need_ all _of the districts firmly on our side…and that includes the Career districts as well. Speaking of Careers, can we count on the cooperation of Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria, in spite of their incarceration by Snow? I know how deeply loyalties from Districts One and Two run with regards to the Capitol."_

" _I'm sure they will be glad to be of assistance, President Coin," Plutarch replied slowly._

" _On that subject," Coin said, "I'll need to see Major Zander when we're through here. I need to discuss some security measures with her prior to the hovercraft's return."_

 _Plutarch nodded. Major Zander was Boggs' second in command, and was accustomed to assuming many of his duties during his frequent absences, not the least of which was the security of District Thirteen. "I'll contact Major Zander after I return to the comm center, Madam President," he said as he turned to leave. "When would you like to see her?"_

" _Immediately," Coin replied brusquely. Plutarch noticed that she was already studying a report on her PADD._

I wonder why she wants to see Zander so urgently, _Plutarch said to himself as he made his way back to the communications center._

* * *

"Peeta, wake up."

I felt a hand gently shaking my shoulder and, with effort, opened my eyes. Katniss was perched next to me, her silvery-gray eyes studying my face intently. I smiled and reached up, covering her hand with mine.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly.

"Okay," I lied. Truthfully, I was exhausted, and every muscle in my body still ached from the stress and exertion of our escape. "How's Rory?"

"Stable," Katniss replied, her brow creasing with worry. "The medics think he'll make it back to Thirteen alive. July's doing okay too…well, maybe not okay, but he'll make it back to Thirteen alive also." She touched my face softly. "My poor Peeta. I should have been here with you. I was just in the way back there when they were working on Rory."

"I wouldn't have been very good company," I said lightly. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Long enough," Johanna Mason grumbled. "By the way, Handsome, about your snoring - I've heard quieter chainsaws in District Seven logging camps."

"I don't snore," I protested weakly.

"Yes, you do, Peeta," Katniss all but whispered. She quickly changed the subject when she noticed Johanna leaning forward, listening to every word. "Did you hear about Duffy?"

I nodded. "Yes. I guess I should feel something, but that guy delighted in busting my balls. He was a good soldier, though."

"He didn't think the same of you," Boggs said as he squeezed past Katniss, gripping a handhold as he swayed in time with the hovercraft's movements. "He told me that you had no business training as a soldier."

"Figures," I muttered. "Can't say that I'm shocked."

"He also said," Boggs continued, "that he had never seen a trainee with more heart, or one that worked as hard, as you did."

"He said that?" I asked in surprise.

"He did," Boggs confirmed. Seeing my sudden embarrassment at this revelation, he quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, I came back here to let you know that we're twenty minutes out, and that you, Peeta, _will_ go willingly to the hospital once we land and you _will_ stay there, until the docs mark you as fit to return to limited duty."

"I'm fine," I protested unconvincingly.

"I don't think so," Boggs replied firmly. "And, more importantly, neither does President Coin." His voice softened slightly. "Look, soldier. You've been through the wringer. Capture, torture, beatings, mental abuse…you need – hell, you've _earned_ – the chance to rest and put yourself back together."

"Okay, fine," I muttered. I didn't like it…but at the same time, deep down inside, I knew that Boggs – and Coin, for that matter – was right. I did need some time in the hospital. I just would have rather spent my first night back in Thirteen with Katniss.

"Anyway," Boggs continued, "I came back to tell you that we're less than twenty minutes out."

"Almost there," I said softly. "Thanks, Boggs."

Boggs nodded once, and then made his way towards the hovercraft cockpit. As Katniss and I watched him, she leaned over and said, very softly, "You won't be alone tonight. I'll be there with you."

"I'm sure there's some rule against that," I pointed out.

"Well, there's no way that I can go back to my quarters," Katniss said stubbornly. "Not with both you _and_ Rory in the hospital!"

"What's this?" Johanna asked innocently. "Is the Mockingjay planning on playing house with you in the _hospital_ , Handsome?"

I looked at Johanna in disgust. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Jo. It's nothing like that."

"It sure sounded like _that_ to me," Johanna replied with a wink.

"Shut it, Mason," Katniss all but snarled.

Johanna settled back in her seat and smirked at Katniss and I. "My, my," she teased. "Touchy, aren't we? So, tell me something, you two – how's the food in this mystery district that we're heading to?"

"You'll find out," Katniss said, as she matched Johanna's smirk with one of her own.

* * *

I can only describe what happened in the first few minutes following our landing in District Thirteen as organized chaos.

Medical teams charged into the hovercraft as soon as the ramp thumped to the concrete floor of the West Hangar. They brushed right by me, the soldiers accompanying them ordering everyone else to remain in place as the unconscious bodies of Rory Hawthorne and July Barrow were transferred onto wheeled gurneys. Another team followed the medics into the hovercraft and headed for the stretcher that bore Duffy's body. Unlike the white-clad medics, this crew was clad in the now-familiar gray coverall worn by most of the inhabitants of District Thirteen, and the patches on their left shoulders identified them as being assigned to Waste Management.

Rory Hawthorne and July Barrow were headed to the hospital. Staff Sergeant Duffy was headed to the incinerators.

Once Rory, July, and Duffy were wheeled down the hovercraft ramp, another medical team appeared, pushing a wheelchair. As they stopped next to my seat I realized with a shock that the wheelchair was meant for me.

I rose to my feet slowly (and somewhat painfully) and tried to wave them off. "I don't need that," I protested, even as Katniss gripped my arm to keep me from swaying unsteadily.

The medics were respectful, but firm. "I'm sorry, Soldier Mellark," one of them said. "Orders from the top. In you go."

"I'm coming with you," Katniss said insistently.

The medics glanced at each other uncertainly. "I…I don't know if that's –"

"Let her go with him," Boggs ordered as he stepped forward. When the medics hesitated, Boggs added, "On my authority."

The medic nodded as I sat down in the chair. "Yes, sir."

"Thanks, Boggs," I said gratefully as my chair began to move.

"Anytime, soldier," Boggs replied fondly. "Katniss, you'll be expected at debriefing later," he added.

"I figured," Katniss muttered, but so softly that only the medics and I could hear her. Louder, she said, "Just let me know when. You know where to find me."

"Will do," Boggs called out.

Once the chair was clear of the ramp a soldier motioned us to stop. I then noticed President Coin approaching, along with her ever-present assistant, Henry Elliott, as well as Haymitch Abernathy, Plutarch Heavensbee and an officer – a major – whose name I didn't immediately remember, but who I knew was a member of Boggs' security staff. Another familiar face was present as well – Finnick Odair, who, at that very moment, was locked in a tight embrace with Annie Cresta. I smiled and waved at him, but I doubt if he noticed.

Plutarch certainly noticed. "Are you getting all this?" he asked Messalla.

Messalla was standing off to one side, where both Castor and Pollux were busy recording every move for posterity. "On it," Messalla replied tersely. I couldn't help but smile when I saw Lavinia standing just behind Pollux. Apparently, they had "bonded" quite nicely on the flight back to Thirteen.

"Soldier Mellark," President Alma Coin said warmly as she stopped in front of my chair. She extended her hand and I gripped it weakly. "Welcome back to District Thirteen."

"Thank you, President Coin," I murmured. "It's good to be back."

"And try to stay out of trouble now, kid," Haymitch said with a fond grin.

"I'll try, Haymitch," I said as I returned his grin.

"I won't keep you," Coin continued. "I just wanted to be here to welcome you…and the Mockingjay…back to the fold. We'll talk more later." She turned towards Katniss. "You'll be notified of debriefing later. For now, I suggest that you –"

"I told her she could accompany Soldier Mellark to the hospital, Madam President," Boggs cut in. "She's not immediately required, and –"

"What the _fuck_ is going on here?" Johanna's voice rang out in the cavernous hangar. "Heavensbee! Want to explain exactly _what_ these Peacekeepers-in-gray think they're doing?"

I tried to turn towards the sound of Johanna's voice, but I couldn't crane my neck around far enough to see what was happening. "Katniss, what's going on?"

"That's what I want to know," Katniss muttered angrily as she shouldered the medic aside that had been pushing my chair. "Outta the way," Katniss ordered as she spun my chair around.

The entire group from the Capitol – Casca, the Career Victors, Andromeda Snow, and Sperantia Blackstone, who was groggily swaying on her feet as the effects of the sedative abated, and was being held upright by Casca and Andromeda – had been herded into one area of the hangar and surrounded by armed soldiers. As I watched, a pair of soldiers approached the camera crew and grasped Lavinia by her arms, and then led her to the others.

"Young woman," Coin said sternly, "I understand that you have been through a great deal of stress. But you must also understand that your attitude will not be tolerated here."

Johanna glanced contemptuously at Coin. "Who the _fuck_ are you?"

Plutarch Heavensbee quickly stepped between Coin and Johanna. "Umm, Johanna," he said hastily, "I would like you to meet Alma Coin…President of District Thirteen. President Coin, Johanna Mason, Victor from District Seven."

"I know who she is, Mr. Heavensbee," Coin snapped. She made a sharp gesture and a pair of soldiers moved forward, flanking Johanna.

" _President_ Coin?" Johanna asked sarcastically. "Since when does a district have a _president_? And what do these two assholes want?"

Coin glanced at Major Zander, who stepped forward and nervously cleared her throat. "My name is Major Zander. I'm here to escort you new arrivals to the District Thirteen Receiving and Refugee Processing Center. Now, if you will all –"

"Just a moment," Casca Bishop said. "Mr. Heavensbee…President Coin. Since when does a group of refugees require an armed escort?"

"It's for your own protection," Coin explained smoothly. "You are all either Capitol citizens or from districts with Loyalist sympathies. The citizens of District Thirteen have some very strong feelings regarding Loyalists. Until the citizens here become convinced of your loyalty and commitment to the Rebellion, I thought it best that you remain sequestered."

"In other words," Johanna spat, "we're under fucking arrest."

"Young woman," Coin snapped, "your televised statements have raised a great many questions regarding exactly where _your_ loyalties lie!"

"And what about _her_?" Johanna pointed at Annie. " _She's_ from a Career District also! I don't see you arresting _her_."

"Miss Cresta didn't broadcast disloyal statements, either," Coin replied smugly.

"No, she didn't," I said from my wheelchair. "She didn't because she was off-camera, like I was, being used to coerce Johanna into cooperating. This is wrong, President Coin. These people were all in on the escape. I wouldn't be sitting here right now if it wasn't for Casca Bishop, and Andromeda Snow, and Johanna Mason. And Lavinia…she's an _Avox_. Already tried and condemned by the Capitol! Where do you think her loyalties lie?"

Coin's jaw tightened. "This decision is not subject to debate." She turned towards Casca. "Mr. Bishop, no one here is under arrest except for her." Coin pointed to Sperantia Blackstone. "The rest of you will be treated as guests until the people of District Thirteen no longer view you as either the enemy or as a potential threat."

Boggs stepped forward. "Madam President –"

Coin ignored him. "Major Zander, please insure that the refugees are escorted to Receiving and given a meal, quarters, and appropriate clothing. The Blackstone girl is to be treated as a prisoner until further notice."

"Yes, ma'am," Zander replied.

"As for Andromeda Snow," Coin continued thoughtfully, "she is, after all, Coriolanus Snow's granddaughter. Assign her quarters near mine on the Command level, and I want around the clock guards placed on her for her own protection." Coin smiled at Andromeda. "You see, Miss Snow? You are my guest, not my prisoner."

"Ma'am," Andromeda said respectfully, "I would rather stay with the others."

"You have your orders, Major," Coin said coldly. "And," she added, pointing at me, "get him to the hospital. Now."

As I watched, a pair of soldiers shackled an obviously terrified Sperantia Blackstone and hustled her out of the hangar, while another, larger group of soldiers herded the others, grumbling and complaining, to a different exit. The last thing I saw before I was wheeled out of the hangar was Andromeda Snow looking at Katniss and I, her expression frightened, even pleading.

* * *

"I'm should have said something," Katniss muttered as the elevator doors slammed shut. I grabbed her hand firmly.

"No," I said softly. "You shouldn't. Not now, Katniss. Emotions are high right now. Let everyone cool off before you get Coin pissed at you again."

"He's right," the medic pushing my chair said.

"But they didn't do shit!" Katniss sputtered as the elevator began to move. "Boggs, Haymitch, Plutarch – they all just stood there and let it happen!"

"I think everyone was as surprised as we were," I said. "Look. The only one that was actually locked up was Sperantia Blackstone. I'm sure that the others are just under guard temporarily for their own protection. Like Coin said."

I didn't believe a word that I was saying, but at that moment my priority was to keep Katniss out of any further trouble. And, if she continued to let her mouth run away with her, that's exactly what she was headed for – more trouble. The medics that were escorting me to the hospital picked up on what I was trying to do and, to my surprise, chimed in, agreeing with me. I found out later that the entire medical staff in Thirteen thought very highly of both Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, and didn't want to see anything happen to either one of them – or to Katniss.

"Look," I said as we entered the hospital. "You have me back. You get to see Prim and your mother soon. And Rory will be okay, now that he's here. We'll worry about the other bullshit later, okay?"

Katniss looked down at me, her eyes still blazing angrily, but she managed to say calmly, "Okay, Peeta. You're right. As usual."

A nurse directed the medics pushing my chair into an examining room. There, they helped me out of the chair and on to an examination table, told me that a doctor would be in shortly, promised to let Mrs. Everdeen and Prim know where we were, and left.

Katniss wasted no time after they left. She bent over me as I lay on the table and gave me a long, slow, lingering kiss. "Finally," she breathed as she came up for air, "I get you alone. I've been aching to really do that ever since we picked you up."

"It was worth the wait," I murmured as I pulled her lips back down to mine.

 **PART IV**

 _Spartacus, President Snow's new Chief of Security, paused at the entrance to Snow's private office and rapped lightly on the door jamb. "You sent for me, President Snow?"_

 _Snow glanced up from the computer screen glowing softly on his desk. "Ahh. Spartacus. Yes. Come in and shut the door."_

 _Spartacus stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, Snow said, "I've received confirmation from our source inside Thirteen that my granddaughter and her friend have arrived there safely, and unharmed."_

" _That's good news, sir," Spartacus replied carefully._

" _I need you to do something for me, Spartacus," Snow continued. "I need you to contact the Communications Ministry. Tell them that you are acting under my authority and that I desire to have the Red Line reactivated as soon as possible."_

 _Spartacus frowned. "The 'Red Line,' sir?"_

 _Snow nodded. "The Red Line was a secure communications network between us and District Thirteen. The last time it was used was seventy-five years ago, when my predecessors used it to negotiate armistice terms with the outlaws in District Thirteen. Now I find myself in a position where I must negotiate with their descendants to facilitate the safe return of both Andromeda as well as Sperantia Blackstone."_

" _Yes, sir," Spartacus said uneasily._

 _Snow chuckled humorlessly. "I negotiate from a position of strength, Spartacus. Remember that._ I _still govern over Panem. And if my demands are not met, this so-called Rebellion will feel the full force of my displeasure." Snow paused, tossed down the pen that he had been holding, and leaned back in his chair._

" _District Twelve was cleansed by fire, Spartacus," Snow said coldly. "I shall not hesitate to make an example of another district if the criminals in Thirteen choose to defy me."_

" _Yes, sir," Spartacus said again. He shivered slightly as the cold tendrils of fear gripped his spine._

" _I offered the districts hope, Spartacus," Snow continued. "Hope through their Tributes' victories in the Games. And they threw it back in my face. Now, they shall know something else."_

 _Snow suddenly sat up and stared at Spartacus, his eyes blazing._

" _They shall experience the true power of the Capitol. And they shall know fear."_


	15. Chapter 15

**PART I**

 _Spartacus Knight, newly promoted Chief of Security for President Coriolanus Snow, stared at the computer screen on his desk, his calm, impassive outward appearance masking his inner churning turmoil. He had been watching the video taken by the security camera from the Presidential Fleet sedan that had been "appropriated" by Casca Bishop. Bishop had kidnapped the President's granddaughter, Andromeda Snow, along with her best friend, Sperantia Blackstone – who happened to be the daughter of Panem's Minister of Security – on the night that he had callously murdered two Peacekeepers while aiding the condemned traitor and Rebel Victor, Peeta Mellark, to escape…along with other potential and actual Rebel Victors that had also been incarcerated._

 _Spartacus owed thanks for his recent promotion to Casca, who, as the former Chief of Security to President Snow, had left his position vacant when he had decided to turn traitor and betray Panem. The position was prestigious, and carried with it a great deal of authority. And, as Spartacus had discovered, a great deal of responsibility as well._

 _The video that he had just finished watching had been enclosed in the sedan's "black box" – a bright yellow electronics module, secured with tamper-proof seals and an electronic lock. Spartacus had idly wondered why it was called a "black box" when it was so obviously yellow. Had he cared to research the term he would have found that it had its origins before the Catastrophes, when similar recording devices were routinely installed on commercial aircraft. But Spartacus was an unimaginative man who had no time for trivia._

 _He was also now a frightened man. A very frightened man._

 _The technician had brought the black box directly to Spartacus as he had been ordered. He hadn't tried to open it – if he had, the seals would have been very obviously broken, and he lacked the code necessary to open the lock – and had rushed it to Spartacus as soon as he had removed it from the car. Spartacus, of course, had the necessary codes to open the box and remove the flash drive that contained the audio and visual recordings that he needed to examine. Once he uploaded the files from the drive onto his computer, he would erase the drive and replace it in the black box before returning everything to the technicians._

 _However, as Spartacus watched the videos, he found himself wishing, more than once, that he had somehow managed to "accidentally" delete the files on the drive before he had seen their contents. For the video contained no evidence of Casca kidnapping young Andromeda Snow by force, or by any other means. It did, however, contain clear evidence that Andromeda was a willing and active participant in aiding the escape of Peeta Mellark and the other detained Victors._

 _The same could not be said for Sperantia Blackstone. In fact, she had confronted her friend Andromeda Snow about Andromeda's helping Casca Bishop commit high treason – and had been repeatedly stunned for her efforts. Spartacus sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "At least," he muttered, "there's no doubt that the Blackstone girl is truly a victim here."_

 _Spartacus reached out and tapped a control on the computer, stopping the video just before Casca Bishop executed the second Peacekeeper. He then slowly and carefully deleted every file on the flash drive. Once the drive had been cleaned, Spartacus carefully plugged it back in to the black box and set the entire unit aside. He would return it to the maintenance technicians in the morning so that they could re-install the unit in the sedan._

 _Spartacus then moved each video file into a protected folder on his computer, and then instructed his computer to generate a unique password for that specific folder. He would have much rather deleted everything, but he knew that he would have to show President Snow the videos eventually. After all, it was Snow that ordered each vehicle in the Presidential Fleet be equipped with tamper-proof security video capability, and he would wish to view these videos personally._

 _But, before that could happen, Spartacus would have to find some way to let the President of Panem know that his beloved granddaughter was, without a shadow of a doubt, a Rebel - and a traitor._

 **PART II**

"Hey."

I could feel my body stiffen at the sound of that single word. I needed sleep desperately – ever since my rescue and return to Thirteen I had been unable to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time before being awakened by nightmares even worse than the ones brought on by the Games. But that wasn't what caused my reaction to that single word, because I had been only dozing fitfully when I heard it. No, what caused the reaction was the fact that I recognized the voice's owner, and the last thing I wanted – or needed – right now was a visit like the one that was about to take place.

 _Maybe if I pretend that I'm asleep –_ "Open your eyes, Townie," the voice commanded. "I know you ain't asleep."

 _Shit._ I forced my eyes open. Gamma Churchill's familiar features blurred into view. I blinked several times and squinted, focusing on my long-deceased District partner's face. As usual, she was perched on the end of my bed, examining with unfeigned interest the catheter tube that ran down to a transparent plastic bag under the bed. The bag was about half-full of yellowish fluid. As I watched, she followed the tube from the bag, back under the thin blanket that covered me. Gamma lifted my blanket and her eyes widened in astonishment at the sight that greeted her.

"Holy shit, Townie," she murmured as she let the blanket drop. " _That_ has got to hurt."

"I don't really notice it, and I was out when they put it in," I replied, my voice rusty from sleep. I looked around the room. Surprisingly, we were alone.

"Where's Gale?" I asked.

Gamma shrugged. "He didn't want to come. Said something about not liking being cooped up in a rabbit warren."

"Why are you here, Gamma?" I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. I had been hospitalized for the last three days. What had begun as an overnight stay for examination and observation had ballooned into a full-blown medical nightmare – fueled, of course, by the collapse that I had suffered the night of my return. The doctors had termed it a "stress induced event, brought on by continuous and extreme physical, mental, and emotional abuse, in addition to complete exhaustion."

It didn't matter what they called it. All I knew was, I blacked out, and when I awoke, I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to beeping machinery, with a plastic tube shoved up my penis.

After what I had gone through, it was no wonder that I suffered nightmares every time I closed my eyes. And the "exhaustion" part explained my catheter nicely, as I was so weak that I needed help just to get out of bed. A bedpan would have been much less painful, but would have required more work on the part of the medical technicians – and they had enough to do with caring for the increasing numbers of wounded.

"Just deliverin' a message, as usual," she replied. "It goes like this. 'Save hope. Protect hope. Hope is the key.'"

"I don't understand," I said wearily. "We all have hope. Hope that this war is over soon. Hope for a better life for everyone in Panem. Why do I need to 'protect' hope?"

"You'll figure it out, Townie," Gamma said with a chuckle. She pressed one hand over my eyes. "Go back to sleep now. We'll talk later."

"Soldier Mellark?" I opened my eyes again. Gamma's hand was no longer covering my eyes. In fact, Gamma was no longer in the room. The duty nurse stood over my bed, one hand gripping my shoulder and gently shaking me.

"I'm sorry I had to wake you," the nurse said apologetically. "I know how hard it's been for you to sleep. But Dr. Picardo has ordered your catheter removed. He wants you to spend more time up and about." The nurse smiled slightly. "He said that you'll never regain your strength 'laying around on your arse.'"

"Does this mean I'm being discharged?" I asked.

"Dr. Picardo will make that decision tomorrow," the nurse replied. "But it looks like you won't be here much longer." The nurse pulled the blanket back from my mid-section and put on a pair of tight, transparent gloves, and then added, "All right. This will be a little uncomfortable, I'm afraid."

 _Why am I not surprised?_ I said to myself as the nurse began working on removing the catheter.

* * *

"We're going to change things up a bit."

Plutarch Heavensbee was doing what he did best – orchestrating propaganda. He wasted no time, once he had heard that I had been released from the hospital. And that's how I found myself in a meeting within two hours of my discharge.

I was seated next to Beetee Latier – still too weak to stand or walk for very long, I was confined to a wheelchair like his – while Plutarch ran the meeting. I was surprised to note that Coin was absent as she had been present at every other "propo" conference. In fact, aside from Plutarch, Beetee, and myself, the only others present were Plutarch's assistant, Fulvia Cardew, Haymitch Abernathy, and Messalla.

I wished they would hurry up. I was anxious to spend a little private time with Katniss.

"The decision has been made," Plutarch continued, "to not send you back out in the field anymore, Peeta."

"How considerate," Beetee murmured. "Especially since you are about as mobile as I am."

Plutarch clearly overheard Beetee but made no reply. "Katniss will continue to shoot propos in the field. We're looking at the possibility of having her joined in the different districts by fellow Rebel Victors from those districts. For example, Johanna accompanies her to Seven, Finnick to Four, Enobaria to Two, and either Cashmere or Gloss – perhaps both – to One. Districts One and Two are especially juicy propaganda targets, especially if their Victors are seen standing shoulder to shoulder with the Mockingjay."

"So, the Career Victors have agreed to cooperate?" I asked.

"Well, like I said, it's an option that we're examining," Plutarch replied evasively.

"What Plutarch means, is that the Careers have pretty much told both him and Coin to go fuck themselves," Haymitch added with a smirk, causing Beetee to snicker.

"Vulgarity is really not necessary, Haymitch," Fulvia said archly.

"I've been out of the loop," I said. "And no one really told me anything while I was in the hospital. But the last I remember from the hangar was everyone being led away under armed guard. Has that changed?"

"There is an assimilation process –" Plutarch began.

"No, it hasn't," Haymitch interrupted flatly. "They're all closely monitored, they all wear ankle trackers, and, while I'm on the subject, I sincerely doubt that you'll get Johanna to cooperate either."

"What about the girls?" I asked. "Andromeda and Sperantia?"

"Andromeda Snow is being treated well," Plutarch replied. "She's under guard at all times, of course, but for her own safety."

"And she's confined to her quarters except at meal time, and even then, she eats at the Command mess, with Coin and the other VIP's," Haymitch added.

"And Sperantia?" I asked pointedly.

Plutarch hesitated. "Level Thirty-Nine," Haymitch replied.

I frowned, trying to recall the significance, if any, of Level Thirty-Nine. "What's on Thirty-Nine?" I asked.

"Haymitch –" Plutarch warned.

"The hoosegow," Haymitch said, ignoring Plutarch. "The lockup. District Thirteen's very own prison."

"She's an avowed Loyalist," Fulvia said pointedly. "And a threat to security." She looked over at me. "Why concern yourself with her? She would have gladly seen you executed."

Haymitch snorted. "A pampered fourteen-year-old Capitol girl, a 'threat to security?' Stick her with the others and let her see what the Capitol has done to Panem, instead of tossing her in solitary confinement."

"Haymitch," Plutarch said patiently, "enough. You're on thin ice as it is. Subverting President Coin will only make it worse."

"I'm 'subverting?'" Haymitch looked at Plutarch in disgust. "Did it ever occur to you – or Coin – that the Career Victors would gladly cooperate if they were treated as allies? And don't _even_ get me started on the bullshit that they're dumping on Johanna!"

Alarmed by his last statement, I twisted around and faced Haymitch. "What do you mean? What's happening with Johanna?"

"Shit," Plutarch muttered. "Go ahead and tell him. He'll find out anyway."

"Tell me what?" I demanded.

"She's bein' investigated, kid," Haymitch explained quietly, but with anger dripping off every syllable. "For the statements that she made during those broadcasts with Caesar Flickerman."

"Statements that she made," I snapped, "while either Annie Cresta or myself was being held off-camera, in her plain view, with the threat that if she stepped out of line we would pay for her disobedience with our pain!"

"Annie's given an affidavit," Plutarch added quickly. "Swearing to the fact the Johanna was coerced. She will be exonerated, I'm sure."

"I want to do the same," I said firmly. "Now."

"After we're done here," Plutarch said, just as firmly. "Look, Peeta, I know you're upset. But we're just about finished. I just wanted to run an idea by everyone first."

Right now, I could care less about Plutarch and his "idea." I glanced over at Haymitch, who nodded once in Plutarch's direction. His meaning was clear. _Listen to him._ I nodded back and then turned to face Plutarch. "Okay. Let's hear it."

Plutarch began to talk rapidly, as if he was afraid that I would change my mind. "It's simple, really. We're going to make you the Rebellion's version of Caesar Flickerman, and do a series of propos right here in Thirteen. We'll have you interview some of the expats from the Capitol – Josephus Picardo and Petronia Goldsmith come immediately to mind – as well as some of the other refugees, like that geneticist from Ten, what's his name?"

"Dalton," Fulvia said as she peered at the screen on her PADD.

"Dalton," Plutarch said, "as well as others. Primrose Everdeen. Madge Undersee. Those young soldiers from Twelve that were wounded in your rescue. And others, of course. We'll combine these with Katniss's action propos. It will make a powerful combination." He looked at me expectantly. "What do you think?"

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "I think," I replied slowly, "that it would be much more effective to include people like Casca Bishop, and Andromeda Snow, and my fellow rescued Victors. Not to mention if you were able to sway Sperantia Blackstone." I looked over at Messalla. "What do you think, Messalla? Next to Snow himself, the Minister of Security is the most powerful person in Panem. If his own Loyalist daughter turned against the Capitol –"

"Peeta's right," Messalla said firmly. "Andromeda Snow will make a powerful propaganda subject, but she's already a Rebel sympathizer. Turning the Blackstone girl would be a real victory for the Rebellion."

"Yes, it would." I looked at Plutarch. "Get her out of jail, and get the armed guards off the others. I think you'll find that they will cooperate… _if_ you start treating them decently."

"I agree," Haymitch added.

"So, you'll do it?" Plutarch asked hopefully.

"Those are my conditions," I replied. "I need everyone that broke out available for interview. Even Lavinia."

"The Avox?" Fulvia said incredulously. "She can't speak!"

"She can sign," Messalla explained. "Pollux is an Avox too. He signs with his brother constantly. Castor can translate if necessary."

I looked at Plutarch expectantly. "Well?"

Plutarch sighed heavily. "All right. I'll talk to Coin." He looked around the table. "I think we're done here for now."

As we left, I couldn't help but smile when I overheard Plutarch say to Haymitch, "You were right, you son of a bitch. He's just as stubborn as Katniss."

Haymitch chuckled. "What do you expect? _I_ trained them both, after all."

 **PART III**

During my captivity, thinking of Katniss was the only way I could get through each day. No matter what they did to me, they couldn't erase my memories. I clung to those memories like a drowning man would cling to a life preserver. And, once I was rescued and reunited with Katniss, I was convinced that the worst was behind me. The momentum of the war had swung in favor of the Rebellion, and, although there was still a lot of fighting left to do, the overall mood was optimistic. It was only a matter of time before the Capitol fell. Yes, the worst was definitely behind me.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

It wasn't just the nightmares and insomnia. It wasn't just the almost paralyzing fear that washed over me whenever I smelled the odor of blood, roses, and the cloying antiseptic smell of the hospital. It wasn't the nagging, chronic pain that never quite went away. No, some problems were hidden, deep down inside, where even I didn't know they were there.

Until, of course, they rise to the surface.

Katniss had shown incredible restraint and patience during those first few days, when I was stuck in the hospital following my collapse. She visited constantly, pretty much ignoring her daily schedule, and would drop not-so-subtle hints as to what she had planned for me when I was finally discharged. I'm sure the hospital staff would have been scandalized if they knew a fraction of what Katniss would whisper in my ear. And now, finally, we were alone in quarters, with the door securely locked, and a stern admonition to virtually everyone to not disturb us unless the Capitol decided to attack District Thirteen.

Katniss was so solicitous of my still-weakened condition, and was unusually gentle. Her kisses were warm and searching without being demanding, and she insisted on undressing me as well as herself. I reveled in the taste of her lips and the feel of her warm body pressed so tightly against mine. She moaned softly when I caressed her body with my fingertips, and she reached for me eagerly to return my caresses with her own, her fingers closing around my manhood, squeezing and stroking me in a loving rhythm.

And nothing happened.

Katniss's gentle caresses gradually became more direct, her grip tightening as she continued to work on awakening my flaccid organ. She held me firmly and began to pump rhythmically, and finally slid down the bed to take me into her warm mouth – but nothing worked. I loved this girl with all my heart, and I was full of desire for her, but my desire didn't have any physical effect.

Gradually, desire was replaced by another emotion – frustration – until finally, with a sigh, I gently disengaged myself with a mumbled apology.

"Katniss. It's not…it's not working. I…I'm sorry."

Reluctantly, Katniss released me and slid back up the bed, her head nestled against my chest. "Don't worry about it, Peeta." Her fingers came up and caressed my cheek. "You just got out of the hospital, and they did have that…that _thing_ shoved up inside you. Maybe that's why."

My catheter. Of course, that _had_ to be it. "Yeah. That's it." I kissed the top of her head gently. "I have to see Picardo tomorrow. I'll mention it to him then." I leaned down and kissed her lips gently. "You know," I added softly, "there are things I can do for you." I kissed her more urgently. "There's nothing wrong with my lips."

To my surprise, Katniss kissed me on my cheek and replied, "It's okay, Peeta. You've had such a hard time. I'm okay, really. I love you."

"I love you," I whispered in return.

There was no more talk after that. But it was evident, from the quiet sighs that Katniss let out, as well as the rigid way she was holding her body, that I was not the only one in this bed that was frustrated.

* * *

The next morning - following a restless, night-terror filled, frustrating night - I found myself looking forward to my appointment with Dr. Josephus Picardo. I really wanted to get to the bottom of my inability to perform with Katniss. For, despite what Katniss had said repeatedly, I _was_ worried about it. However, it became apparent that my sexual dysfunction would have to wait. I was summoned to a meeting with President Coin immediately following breakfast. And, to my surprise, Katniss was excluded.

Katniss said nothing as we listened to the messenger deliver Coin's summons. He seemed to be waiting for something, so I finally said, "Thank you. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

After he left, I turned towards Katniss. "Why just me and not you?"

She shrugged. "Who can tell with her? Besides, Finnick and I have to go see Beetee in Weapons Development." A concerned look crossed her face. "I'm sure this has something to do with your demands for hosting Plutarch's little 'propo show.'"

"Conditions, not 'demands,'" I corrected her, trying to keep my voice light.

"It's the same thing, Peeta," she replied seriously. "With me, they're always 'demands.' You're just nicer about it."

Our conversation was cut short by the arrival of Haymitch, Boggs, and Plutarch. "Are you done eating?" Haymitch asked.

I stared down at the remains of the unappetizing meal left on my tray. "I think so."

"Good!" Haymitch said cheerfully as he stepped behind me and grabbed the handles of my wheelchair. "We've been sent to escort you to your meeting with President Coin."

"I'll see you later, Peeta," Katniss murmured. She gave me a quick kiss and hurried out of the mess hall.

"What was _that_ all about?" Haymitch asked as he watched Katniss disappear towards the elevators. "She sure as shit ain't actin' like the way she was before your rescue. She looked like she was kissin' her brother goodbye just then."

"It's nothing," I muttered as Haymitch began to push my chair. "Just drop it, okay?"

To my surprise, Haymitch did just that. But, I knew that his curiosity would get the better of him eventually. Shit. What an embarrassing thing to have to talk about to anyone, let alone Haymitch Abernathy. Still, I was grateful for the silence for the rest of the short trip to Command, even though I'm sure that they could all see my blush.

* * *

"First," Coin said, "let me say how glad I am that you seem to be recovering nicely from your recent ordeal, Soldier Mellark."

 _Physically, maybe,_ I said to myself. _Mentally is another story._ "Thank you, President Coin," I murmured.

"We're just happy to have you back." I had to hand it to her. She was really trying hard to sound sincere. "Now," she continued, in her typical business-like manner, "I understand that Mr. Heavensbee has spoken to you about your role in future propos?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"He told me that you have some specific – requests - regarding these broadcasts?" Coin asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

"No, ma'am," I replied, using the same careful tone. "Not 'requests.' I have 'conditions.'"

"Let's not mince words here, Soldier Mellark," Coin said firmly. "You presented Mr. Heavensbee with a list of demands. And it is those that I wish to discuss."

 _Here it comes,_ I said to myself. "I thought my conditions were reasonable," I said carefully.

"Our Intelligence staff has legitimate concerns regarding the prisoners that were liberated with you," Coin said. "Not to mention the Capitol citizens that accompanied you. I don't think I need to remind you that, of your fellow liberated Victors, four are from Career districts, and one – Johanna Mason - made several pro-Capitol television broadcasts. As for the others – all are current or former Capitol citizens, and one has been classified as a prisoner of war. These are not the kind of people that I want to give unfettered access to District Thirteen."

When I spoke again, I was very careful to keep my voice calm and controlled. "President Coin, all of my fellow prisoners were prisoners for a reason. Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria were locked up for failing to voice their immediate support to Snow, the Capitol, and the war. They weren't thrown in prison for what they said. They were imprisoned for what they _didn't_ say. Casca – well, I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for him." I looked pointedly at Plutarch Heavensbee. "Plutarch was another high-placed Capitolite that turned Rebel, and he's been welcomed with open arms here. Casca must wear an ankle tracker and is escorted everywhere he goes – yet the risks he took were considerable. In fact, he was one of Plutarch's operatives. Isn't that right, Plutarch?"

Plutarch looked embarrassed. "There are other factors at work here, Peeta," he said. "You don't understand that the need for security at the highest levels is critical at this point in the Rebellion."

"I do understand," I replied. "I understand that Casca trusted you. And what about the others? Johanna Mason was captured, as I was, while fighting the Peacekeepers – and those broadcasts that she did were made under duress. And Annie Cresta, a threat? She can barely function! Lavinia is an _Avox_ who had her tongue removed _by_ the Capitol as punishment for some 'terrible' crime. As far as Andromeda Snow is concerned –"

"Andromeda Snow is being treated quite well," Coin interrupted stiffly. "Proportionate to her position as President Snow's only granddaughter."

"She sacrificed everything," I continued. "She betrayed her own _grandfather._ And she's not allowed out of her quarters without an escort."

"For her own protection," Coin pointed out.

This was going nowhere. I had to try a different approach. Turning towards Boggs, I said, "Boggs, I'm a little behind on the status of the Rebellion." I glanced over at Coin. "Madam President, can I go off-topic for a moment?"

Coin, Plutarch, and Boggs all looked puzzled, while Haymitch was regarding me with a knowing smirk. I think he knew where I was going with my question, but he said nothing. For a moment, it seemed that Coin was going to deny my request, but, in the end, she waved her hand casually at Boggs and nodded.

"Go ahead and bring Soldier Mellark up-to-date," she said, and added, "but be brief."

Boggs inclined his head, once, and turned to face me. "Fighting has slowed down considerably with the onset of winter, but we're holding onto the districts that we've taken. We'll resume full offensive operations in spring. It should be just a matter of time until the Capitol is defeated."

"They're really feeling the effects of short rations as well," Plutarch added. "By spring there won't be any fight left in them."

"Spring is months away," I pointed out. "And don't forget that Districts One and Two are still supporting the Capitol. Boggs said 'just a matter of time.' Well, a lot of people can die between now and then, and Beetee was telling me just the other day that Panem can't afford to take too many more casualties – that, once the population falls below a certain level, there may not be enough people left to re-populate the country." I looked directly at Coin. "If we can get Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria to show their districts just how futile further resistance is, we can shorten this war considerably. And, imagine what effect it would have on the Capitol if Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone did the same."

"Sperantia Blackstone is a Loyalist," Coin snapped. "She is a prisoner of war. Using her for any sort of pro-Rebellion propaganda is ill-advised and attempts to do so would probably be futile."

Inwardly, I grinned. Coin was focused on her opposition to Sperantia Blackstone's potential participation in shortening the war. What she _didn't_ say was that we couldn't use the others. She may not have given her express permission, but she didn't say no. And that was something that I could build on. Now I had to work on stroking Coin's ego a bit.

"I understand that completely, ma'am," I replied sincerely. "But the others…if you could allow us –" I waved a hand at Haymitch, Plutarch, and Boggs "- to speak to them, _as allies_ , then I think you would be very pleased with the propos that we produce."

Still, Coin hesitated. "Johanna Mason's collaboration with the Capitol is still a matter of record, and must be addressed."

"I signed an affidavit yesterday," I explained, "attesting to the fact that she was coerced into making those appearances with Caesar Flickerman by Snow threatening Annie or I with torture."

Coin looked thoughtful. "Boggs, your opinion?"

"President Coin," Boggs said carefully, "when we contacted the escapees, Johanna Mason and Casca Bishop were wearing the uniforms of dead Peacekeepers. Chances are, if they had been re-captured, they both would have been summarily executed for impersonating Peacekeepers. I understand that there is strong evidence against her that must be addressed. But there's just as much evidence to indicate that she was, in fact, coerced by President Snow, and that her loyalties have always been with the Rebellion."

"Damn straight," Haymitch growled. "She's been ass-deep in the Rebellion since her own Victory. Can't see her turnin' traitor."

Coin looked at Plutarch. "Mr. Heavensbee?"

"Without her and Blight, there would have been no Rebel faction in District Seven, Madam President," Plutarch pointed out.

Coin stroked her chin and stared off into space as she mulled over what we had just said. Finally, she looked at each of us in turn and said, "Very well. Except for Sperantia Blackstone, the others are on parole. They will continue to wear ankle trackers until further notice. They no longer require an escort. Once they agree to their parole, I will make a district-wide announcement to this effect." She paused for a moment and fixed her gaze on me. "If they violate the terms of their parole, they will revert to the status of 'detainee.' Do you understand, Soldier Mellark?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Additionally, insofar as Andromeda Snow is concerned, I wish to be personally appraised as to the status of your talks with her regarding her use as a propaganda tool." Coin looked around the table and began to stand up. "I think that's all for now."

"One more thing, Madam President," Plutarch said hesitantly. "Regarding the matter of the Blackstone girl –"

"That subject, Mr. Heavensbee, is closed," Coin said coldly.

"Umm…yes," Plutarch continued. "And I fully support your reasoning. But, consider this – one of every four citizens of Panem lives in the Capitol. The clear majority of these citizens are Loyalists, or sympathetic to the Loyalist cause. And the Capitol is the only place in Panem that possesses the bureaucratic machinery necessary to govern this nation."

"Your point, Mr. Heavensbee?" Coin asked impatiently.

"My point, President Coin," Plutarch continued, "is that, sooner or later, we will be forced to deal with a large population that does not share our beliefs, our values, or our goal of a Panem governed by the principles of fairness to all citizens. And we can't very well lock up the entire population of the Capitol. We will need them to continue to run the day-to-day machinations of government – the myriad minutiae that comes with running a nation. And we won't be able to do that unless we know how to win these people over."

Coin sighed heavily. "And I suppose you have a plan that involves the Blackstone girl?"

Plutarch nodded. "I've been speaking with Dr. Aurelius. Sperantia Blackstone is an excellent subject for what we intend to do. She is a staunch Loyalist. If we can find how to reach her – to convert her to our cause – we can later apply similar techniques to the rest of the Capitol."

Coin was silent for a long moment as she examined each of us in turn. Finally, she said, "I can't remember the last time I was played so masterfully." She shook her head in disbelief. "And so logically. All right." She addressed Plutarch specifically. "Sperantia Blackstone is still a prisoner…however, you may grant her some limited movement, _under constant supervision_ , to test your 'conversion' theories out. Mr. Heavensbee, I warn you – if she steps out of line, there will be no second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Madam President."

"All right, then," Coin said. "Let's go back to work on 'winning their hearts and minds.'"

After we had left, I twisted around in my chair and asked Haymitch, "What did she mean by that? 'Winning their hearts and minds?'"

Haymitch chuckled. "It means, kid, that she actually listens to us every now and then."

"It's an old phrase that pre-dates the Catastrophes," Plutarch explained. "It basically means winning over an enemy with kindness rather than force."

"And if that fails," Haymitch continued, "don't forget the rest of it. 'Grab 'em by the balls, and their hearts and minds will surely follow.'"

And, as Haymitch pushed my chair towards the hospital, I found my elation at having won a small victory tempered by the fact that, someday, we would have to win over a lot more people.

 **PART IV**

Dr. Aurelius looked at me sympathetically for a moment before he spoke. "Peeta, I know this has been difficult for you to talk about."

I sighed heavily and rubbed one hand over my face. "Yeah. It has."

Aurelius leaned back in his chair and looked at me thoughtfully. "Well, at any rate, I'm glad that Dr. Picardo referred you to me." He smiled slightly. "Joe is a fine physician, but he is not a psychiatrist."

"Can you fix what's wrong with me, Doctor?" I asked, a plaintive note creeping into my voice.

I was, quite frankly, shocked by his reply. "No."

"But I thought –"

"I can't help you," Aurelius continued, "because there's nothing really _wrong_ with you."

"I can't get it up, Doctor," I said tightly. "I think that qualifies as 'something wrong with me.'"

"Let me rephrase that," Aurelius said hastily. "There's nothing _physically_ wrong with you."

"No?" I asked bitterly. "I guess I don't need this chair anymore, then!"

"Peeta," Aurelius said gently. "I'm not minimizing what you've gone through. But, from all accounts, you're recovering well. You won't need that chair for much longer. However, your physical injuries should have no impact on your sexuality."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" I could feel my frustration build with each passing second.

"It's been a while since we've talked, hasn't it?" Aurelius asked.

I looked down at the surface of the desk. In fact, I've only really spoken to him once before, even though I had promised to see him regularly. "Yeah," I replied softly. "It has."

Aurelius chuckled again. "Relax, Peeta. I know how busy you all are. But, if you _had_ been coming to see me, I would have started out our first session by telling you that a psychiatrist never really cures anyone."

"No?" I was confused now. "So, what do they do?"

"We listen," Aurelius replied. "And we give advice. It's up to the patient to take it. We guide our patients towards their cure. But it's the patient that ultimately cures him - or her – self."

"But I know there's drugs," I persisted. "At least," I added, "I've heard there are drugs."

Aurelius nodded. "Oh, there are. Anti-depressants, stimulants, sleep aids – and I prescribe them only as a last resort. Take your nightmares, for example. If I gave you a sleep aid, you may find it harder to awaken from a nightmare. Or, you may sleep so soundly that you don't even realize that you are dreaming. We just don't know unless you see the effects for yourself." He paused for a moment. "I really don't think you're a good candidate for drug therapy. What I do think, is that we talk some more and try to pinpoint what may have triggered your current inability to perform. So, Peeta, I think it would be helpful if you can you tell me, as best as you can recall, when was the last time that you and Katniss were intimate?"

 _Shit. It's come to me having to tell him…stuff. But I want to figure out what's wrong. For me. And, most of all, for Katniss._ And so, I took a deep breath…and began to talk.

* * *

Convincing Coin to stop treating Cashmere, Gloss, and the others like prisoners of war was only one half of my battle. The other half would be to convince them that they _weren't_ prisoners of war…and to get them to cooperate with us in recording propos. My biggest problem was that I simply didn't know them well enough. I needed someone that did know them…and commanded their respect at the same time.

Fortunately, I had Finnick Odair on my side.

Finnick was a changed man since his reunion with Annie Cresta. For that matter, Annie was a changed woman. There was scarcely a trace of the psychological problems that had been so disabling to her when we were in Capitol incarceration. She was calm, even serene, and when I spoke to her it was as if "crazy" Annie Cresta had never existed. Annie and Finnick had been virtually inseparable since her arrival here in Thirteen, and it was clear to me that each supported the other, mentally as well as emotionally.

Finnick readily agreed to talk to the Career Victors. He suggested that he and Haymitch speak to them before either Katniss or I got involved. He felt that Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria would respond better to a pair of veteran Victors rather than a pair of newcomers such as Katniss and myself. And, considering the somewhat strained relationship that I had with those three, I was more than happy to let Finnick and Haymitch break the ice with them.

Johanna Mason was another story. She resented her treatment since our rescue, and I can't say that I blamed her. Even though Coin had all but promised not to pursue any charges against her, I couldn't shake the feeling that Johanna would face Coin's full wrath if she refused to cooperate in any way. And Johanna was hot-tempered enough to do just that. There were others that I had to work on – Casca Bishop, Andromeda Snow, and Sperantia Blackstone – but I needed to get Johanna on my side first.

I didn't waste any more time. As soon as I was finished with my session with Aurelius I headed straight for the level that Johanna was being held – not coincidentally the same level that the Capitol expatriates had been held when we had first arrived in Thirteen. She was sharing quarters with Lavinia, which probably suited Johanna, never a fan of small talk, just fine. I'm sure it rankled Johanna to know that Lavinia had more freedom of movement than she did, spending most of her waking hours working with her fellow Avox, Pollux. It seemed that, as Finnick did with Annie, Messalla had readily agreed to supervise Lavinia as a condition of her parole – an arrangement that Pollux was quite pleased with.

I was just outside Johanna's quarters as I paused to catch my breath after wheeling myself from the hospital. Unlike Beetee Latier, whose injuries would most likely keep him confined to his wheelchair for the rest of his life, my chair was regarded as temporary, and I was expected to propel myself around Thirteen as much as possible as part of my physical therapy. It was harder than I thought it would be and, to my disgust, I found myself out of breath upon my arrival at Johanna's door.

There was a single guard outside her door. He had already been given the word that me – or someone from Information Warfare, as Plutarch's propo operation was called – would be arriving.

"She's inside," he said. "I was told that you would be down here today. She's all yours."

"Thanks," I managed to say as I worked on catching my breath. The guard nodded once and left.

Once the guard was out of sight I reached out and knocked firmly on Johanna's door. On the other side of the door I could hear movement and a muffled curse or two before the door slid open and Johanna Mason stood in the opening, staring down at me in surprise.

"Well, well," she said finally, stepping aside so I could enter. "Look what the mutt dragged in. I thought it was my shadow at first. Where is he, by the way?" She stuck her head out the door and looked around curiously.

"Hello, Jo," I said quietly as I rolled my chair through the door. "Your 'shadow' has been relieved. I was wondering if you had time to talk for a bit."

Johanna laughed - a short, humorless bark – and beckoned me into her quarters with a grand sweep of her arm. "Time? Well, I think I can squeeze you in. My appointments secretary isn't here right now, but I'm pretty sure my schedule is clear."

I ignored the sarcasm and rolled up to the small dining table. "Is here okay?"

Johanna shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" She pulled out a chair, spun it around, and straddled it, resting her forearms across the chair back. "I'd offer you a chair, but I see you brought your own."

 _She's bitter,_ I reminded myself. _Bitter and angry. Ignore it._ "I'm sorry," she continued. "I would offer you something to drink, but all I have is water. They won't let me bring anything back from the mess hall."

"I'm fine," I replied evenly.

Johanna cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow as she regarded me coolly. "Really? You sure as shit don't _look_ fine."

I tapped the arms of my chair. "It's temporary," I explained. "Until I regain my strength."

Johanna sat up and leaned back slightly. "You surprised us all, Handsome," she said. "The night we got sprung, I mean. I was positive that we'd have to leave you behind, considering how banged up you were."

I gazed steadily into her eyes. "I don't think you would have done that."

A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. "You sound pretty sure of that."

I shrugged. "Maybe I know you better than you think I do."

Johanna leaned forward again and ran one hand through her short, spiky hair. "Well, the Careers would've left you behind, and not thought twice about it." She shook her head. "Assholes," she muttered. "Heads so far up Snow's ass –"

"And yet, they were in the same prison that we were," I pointed out.

Johanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "I hate it when you're right," she muttered. "All right," she continued. "Why don't you get to the point of your visit?"

"I need your help," I said. Quickly I outlined the idea of using the Victors to appear in a series of propos. Johanna said nothing as I spoke, but, judging from her facial expressions and her body language, I could tell that, overall, she was less than thrilled with the idea.

I was spot on. As I finished, I looked at Johanna with a kind of curious dread, expecting an angry explosion. She didn't disappoint me. Taking a final deep breath, I asked, "Well? What do you think?"

"Let me get this straight." Johanna's voice was low and tightly controlled. "We're supposed to record some anti-Capitol propaganda, and in return we won't be treated like criminals anymore?"

"That's the general idea, yes," I replied carefully.

"And this was Heavensbee's idea?"

"Yes, mostly."

"You know, Handsome," Johanna continued, as her tone became almost conversational, "I had heard talk that I was gonna be put on trial for making those anti-Rebellion broadcasts."

"Annie and I both signed affidavits attesting that you made those videos with Caesar Flickerman under duress," I said quickly, "And both Haymitch and Boggs vouched for your actions during the rescue."

"Who?" Johanna asked sharply.

"Boggs," I replied patiently. "The soldier in charge of the rescue."

"Oh. Him." Johanna scratched the back of her head absently. "So, what's in it for me?" she asked.

"Everyone that came out with us is free to move about Thirteen," I explained. "Except Sperantia Blackstone, of course. You'll still wear an ankle tracker for now, but that's more to alert you if you try to enter a restricted area without permission. No more guards, no more escorts."

"And what if one of these gophers decides they have an issue with what I said during my interviews with Flickerman, and wants to make something of it?"

"Coin will make an announcement to the district later today," I explained quickly, "informing Thirteen that you and the others are to be considered allies. You may get a dirty look or two, but that's it."

"Ha!" Johanna looked amused. "As if _that_ would bother me." She ran one hand through her hair again. "And if I don't cooperate with Plutarch's little productions?"

"Then there's no deal. More than likely, you'll be tried for treason to the Rebellion," I said bluntly.

"You know," Johanna said after a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face, "it would almost be worth it to tell this 'President' Coin to take her deal and shove it up her ass sideways, just to see the look on her face."

"Jo –" I began, alarmed at what she had just said.

Johanna regarded me seriously for a moment. "Relax, Handsome," she finally said. "I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid – or suicidal. I'll be good."

"You better," I warned. "Jo, they're not playing around here. These people are deadly serious."

"Point taken." She looked at me quizzically. "Say, where's your girlfriend? You know…the 'Mockingjay?'"

"Getting ready for another propo," I said, clenching my jaw slightly at the memory of my failure from the previous night. I ignored Johanna's mocking tone. "They're sending her out to some of the pacified districts for some quick shoots, until you and the others can join them in the field."

Johanna's eyebrows arched up in surprise. "Not you?"

I gestured at my chair. "Like this?" I asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into my voice.

"I see your point." Johanna looked at me pointedly. "Okay, Handsome. What do I need to do next?"

"Push me," I said as I backed away from the table. "My arms are tired. We need to go see someone."

"What do you mean, 'we?'" Johanna asked.

"I mean 'we,' as in you and me," I said. "And 'we' need to go see Andromeda Snow."

Johanna's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why her?"

"Because," I explained patiently, "then the three of us will pay Casca Bishop a visit, and finally, all four of us will go down to Level Thirty-Nine and have a talk with Sperantia Blackstone."

"You mean the little Loyalist bitch?" Johanna asked in surprise. "Why?"

"We're going to convert her," I said as Johanna grabbed the handles of my chair. "And then we'll be able to put her on display to the whole country as the first Loyalist-turned-Rebel."

"Good luck with that," she muttered as she pushed me towards the elevator.

 **PART V**

President Alma Coin's private office was a direct reflection of the woman that led District Thirteen, and, by extension, the Rebellion. It was neat to the point of obsession, despite the numerous reports – both on paper and electronic – that awaited her perusal, and, if necessary, her approval. Only a single personal decoration graced her desk – a framed photograph of a younger, softer-looking Alma Coin, flanked by the image of a smiling man and a girl, also smiling, and somewhat younger than Primrose Everdeen. I realized that these people must be her deceased husband and daughter, and for a moment I could empathize with this woman who, like me, had lost her entire family.

That moment passed quickly. "I see you've had some success in your negotiating with Johanna Mason and Casca Bishop?" She asked, glancing up from her PADD.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "Convincing Johanna was easier than I thought, and I doubt if I would have had the success that I had with Casca if it wasn't for Meda Snow's help."

"I see." Coin looked back down at her PADD. "I've had similar reports from Plutarch Heavensbee and Haymitch Abernathy regarding their efforts with the Career Victors. Apparently, Finnick Odair was instrumental in 'greasing the skids,' as Mr. Abernathy so eloquently put it, in convincing them to cooperate."

She looked back up at me and gazed at me intently. This was the first time that I had ever been in her private office, and alone with her. _She has that same quality that Snow has,_ I said to myself. _That_ I am in charge and WILL be obeyed _quality._ "So, when can I expect you to begin recording propos again?" She asked.

"Plutarch wants me out of this first," I explained, gesturing towards my wheelchair. "He feels it would send the wrong message to Snow if I appeared on propos like this." I paused for a moment before continuing. "I also would like to begin to work on Sperantia Blackstone."

Coin looked skeptical. "I still think that's a waste of time. However, if it doesn't interfere with your rehabilitation, or with the acclimatization of your fellow escapees, I will allow it." She shook her head. "The Blackstone girl is an unrepentant Loyalist; whose father is very highly placed in Snow's government. I don't see her 'converting' any time soon."

"Dr. Aurelius thinks she will 'convert,' President Coin," I replied. "She's angry, and stubborn, and spoiled – but she's also a fourteen-year-old girl who has been in virtual solitary confinement since her arrival here. She's scared, and alone, and has no idea what will happen to her. Dr. Aurelius feels that the sight of a familiar face – Meda's – may help in breaking down whatever resistance that she has left."

"Well, no harm in trying," Coin said. She looked back down at her PADD. "Keep me posted, Soldier Mellark."

I had been dismissed. And, as I left Coin's inner sanctum, I headed directly for Johanna's quarters.

We had some work to do.

* * *

Level Thirty-Nine was not quite what I expected.

I had been expecting a dungeon. To my surprise, Thirty-Nine didn't appear all that much different from any other level in District Thirteen. It was clean, well-lit, and with the sterile appearance that seemed to distinguish the bulk of the district. What it did lack, however, was people.

There weren't many prisoners down here, and those that were here were confined to their cells – termed 'compartments' here - for all but an hour or two each day. Johanna, Andromeda, and I – we decided not to include Casca, as Sperantia's interactions with him consisted primarily of him repeatedly stunning her - were met by a single guard. This guard, an ordinary District Thirteen soldier that was on prison detail, explained that she would accompany us with the prisoner Blackstone if we left Level Thirty-Nine. To my surprise, she wasn't armed with anything other than a small electronic control that would administer a stun charge to any prisoner wearing a specially-tuned ankle tracker.

The guard assured me that Sperantia Blackstone was wearing such an ankle tracker.

The guard greeted us when we arrived. "Right this way," she said as we stepped off the elevator. "I've been told to expect you. Prisoner Blackstone is in compartment Thirty-Nine-Oh-Eight."

Johanna grasped the handles of my chair and pushed as we followed the guard. Andromeda stuck close to my side, staring wide-eyed all around as we moved through the prison. "How'd you get so lucky to draw _this_ assignment?" Johanna asked.

The guard glanced at Johanna contemptuously. She, of course, had heard Coin's announcement, but that didn't change her mind regarding how she personally felt about Johanna Mason's 'treasonous' conduct. "Everyone rotates through here," she explained briefly. "One-year tours."

She stopped in front of a door. "Here we are."

Before unlocking the door, the guard pressed a button set into the wall, next to a speaker grill. "Prisoner," she called out. "Stand up, move to the rear of the compartment, place your forehead against the wall, and place your hands behind your back."

"What's _that_ all about?" Johanna muttered.

The guard didn't turn around as she replied. "SOP. It's a safety issue."

SOP. Standard Operating Procedure. Johanna snorted derisively. "For a fourteen-year-old _Capitolite_?" She looked at Andromeda with a smirk. "No offense."

"Finnick Odair was fourteen when he won the Games," Andromeda pointed out.

I chuckled inwardly at Andromeda's retort. "Jo," I managed to say with a straight face, "and Meda. Enough." I looked at the guard. "Open it up."

The guard nodded and spoke quietly into a hand-held radio. A moment later, I heard a buzzing followed by the mechanical sound of a lock being disengaged. The door popped open slightly and the guard stepped forward to slide it open all the way.

"What would happen if someone inside tried to jump you?" I asked as the guard slid the door open.

"We're being video monitored," she explained. "The prisoner could be stunned from the control room." She gestured into the compartment. "There's your prisoner."

Sperantia Blackstone had followed the guard's instructions to the letter. She was standing at the rear of the compartment, her forehead resting against the wall, her hands clasped behind her back. I could see an ankle tracker clamped firmly around her right ankle. She waited, unmoving, for her next command. Obviously, she had learned the routine here quickly.

The guard, one hand resting casually on the stun control, said, "Recover. Turn and face the door."

Sperantia unclasped her hands and pushed herself away from the wall and turned around slowly. The compartment was small, even claustrophobic, with only a narrow metal cot for furniture. A combination metal toilet and water dispenser was set in the rear of the room. Sperantia was dressed in a standard district gray coverall, her dark hair pulled back and tied behind her head. She was completely devoid of the studs and rings that she had worn in her numerous piercings. And, judging from the smell, she hadn't bathed in several days.

Andromeda was the first to speak. "Speri," she said softly, her voice catching in her throat.

Sperantia's eyes narrowed and her face clouded with anger. "What do you want?"

I glanced up at the guard. "When was the last time she bathed?"

"When she was brought in," the guard replied. "It's SOP for new arrivals."

"We can't take her out of here looking like this," I said. "She needs to get cleaned up and given fresh clothing."

"Prisoners bathe once weekly in winter," the guard said doggedly. "Twice weekly in summer. It's –"

"SOP, I know," I interrupted. "This isn't SOP. We need to get her cleaned up and changed into clean clothes."

"Where are you taking me?" Sperantia asked, as she glanced from the guard back to me.

I looked over at the girl, her face still set in angry defiance, but now with a slight tremor of fear in her voice. "Do you remember me?" I asked.

I had to give her credit. Scared or not, she was putting up a brave front. "Yes. You're Peeta Mellark, the traitor." She looked at Andromeda. "And so are you, Meda."

Andromeda looked like she was about to cry. "Speri, please –"

"Andromeda," I said firmly. "Later." I returned my attention to Sperantia. "Do you like your 'compartment?'"

"No," she replied flatly, and then added, "I want to go home."

"Do you know where we are, Sperantia?" I asked.

"They said this was District Thirteen," the girl replied after a moment. "But I know that's a lie. District Thirteen was destroyed during the Dark Days."

"They told all of us that," I pointed out. "And they reminded us every year during the Reapings that Thirteen was destroyed. But it wasn't. And this is it."

"I don't believe you," Sperantia whispered.

"All right, smart-ass," Johanna said. "Then _you_ tell us _where_ we are." She gestured around us with one arm. "Have you ever seen or heard of any place like this anywhere in Panem?"

Uncertainty crossed Sperantia's face. "No," she admitted.

"We were lied to, Sperantia," I said gently. "All of us. Capitol and districts alike."

"Look at me," Johanna insisted. "You know who I am, right?"

Sperantia's eyes narrowed again as she looked at Johanna. "Yes."

"Peeta and I," Johanna continued, "we're Victors. Just like Cashmere, and Gloss, and Enobaria. Just like Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. Oh yes, he's here too. Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen also." She paused for a moment. "Nine Victors right here in Thirteen. Tell me, Loyalist, what did they tell you about us Victors?"

"What do you mean?" Sperantia asked.

"Oh, shit," Johanna said disgustedly. "You know. That same old tired spiel they played at every Reaping. You watched the Reapings, right?" Sperantia nodded. "Remember all the shit about Victors being 'bathed in riches, living in luxury,' and all the rest?"

"It's the truth," Sperantia replied stubbornly. "I've been to District One. I've seen how Victors live."

"Then maybe you can tell me something," Johanna continued conversationally. "If the life of a Victor was so great, then _why are we all here?_ "

Sperantia was silent, but I could tell that Johanna's words affected her. "If being a Victor was so fucking great, then why did all of us here give it up?" Johanna continued. "Why did Victors like Blight from Seven, Mags from Four, and Seeder from Eleven _die_ supporting the Rebellion? I'll tell you why, Loyalist! It's because we were all poor district scum before we 'won' the Games, that's why! We remember what life was like _before_ the Games. And the Capitol lied to us all."

"You're willing to die for this?" Sperantia asked in amazement.

Johanna's face was fixed in an expression of determination. "This place ain't perfect," she replied – no doubt referring to her recent treatment – "but it's better than being a slave to the Capitol. And I would rather die for something, than live for nothing."

"What do you want from me?" Sperantia asked, once Johanna finished her rant.

"Just to show you some things," I said reassuringly. "That's all."

"And if I refuse?" Defiant Sperantia was making another appearance. And, even though she would have gladly seen me die, I couldn't help but admire her spirit.

"You go right back into your 'compartment,'" I replied. "And there you will stay until they figure out just what to do with you."

The girl thought it over for a moment, and then sighed and said, "Fine. But don't expect me to change my mind about anything."

It was a minor victory. I'll take it. "Good," I said. I turned towards the guard. "Get her cleaned up, please. And show us where we can wait, other than here."

The guard led us to a small group of tables where the prisoners ate their meals. A large video screen, now dark, adorned one wall. It reminded me of the other mess halls that I had eaten in here in Thirteen. The guard led Sperantia away to get her cleaned up and dressed in a new coverall. Once they were out of sight I turned towards Johanna, who was perched on the table, her feet resting casually on the bench seat.

"To say that you shocked me today would be an understatement, Jo," I said. "I didn't expect you to be that…passionate…about, well, everything."

Johanna chuckled softly. "Don't get me wrong, Handsome," she replied. "I'm still sorely pissed at the way I've been treated here. But I do believe in the Rebellion." Her voice dropped slightly. "I'm just not all that thrilled about Coin leading it."

"I understand," I said. I turned towards Andromeda, who was sitting next to me, and was looking miserable. "You okay?" I asked.

"No," Andromeda said as she sniffed back a tear. "Speri hates me."

Her words made me think about people that, sadly, I hadn't really thought about for a long time. My family. How hurt I had been at the way they treated me. How angry I was. And how I shunned them – until I realized that I could be angry with them, even with my father, and still never stop loving them. I thought of Cressida, whom Katniss trusted implicitly, until Katniss felt betrayed by Cressida's attempts to comfort me during my Victory Tour – right up to the point where Cressida took a bullet meant for Katniss and died to protect her.

Andromeda Snow was a lonely, fourteen-year-old girl in the strangest place she could have possibly imagined – and now she was convinced that her best friend hated her. If she started to have second thoughts –

"I don't think she really hates you," I said reassuringly, hoping that I was correct. "I think she's angry with you, and feels betrayed, but I don't think she truly hates you."

Andromeda looked over at me and wiped a tear away with the heel of her hand. "You really think that's it? That she's just mad?"

I nodded. "Give it time. You're her only friend here."

"And in the meantime," Johanna added, "I'll give her something else to think about." She grinned at me. "She's taking over as your chair pusher."

"I'm sure, given her circumstances, that she'll be glad to push me around," I replied. "And it just so happens that we have another stop to make after we leave here."

"Where are we going, Peeta?" Andromeda asked.

"The hospital," I replied with a smile. "I have to see a physical therapist, and there's someone there that I want you and Sperantia to meet."

 **PART VI**

"Hi!" Primrose Everdeen extended her right hand towards Andromeda Snow. "I'm Primrose Everdeen."

"I know," Andromeda said as she took Prim's hand. I could see that Andromeda had the same star-struck, glazed expression in her eyes that she had the day that she first met Katniss and I. "I mean, hi. I'm Andromeda Snow."

"Nice to finally meet you," Prim said sincerely. Prim was as different from Katniss than two sisters could possibly be. She was warm, and open, and everyone took an instant liking to her. "Katniss and Peeta told me about your visit to Twelve. Welcome to District Thirteen."

"Thank you," Andromeda said softly. She looked around the ward. "Is your mother here too?"

"She's working, but in a different part of the hospital," Prim explained. She looked past Andromeda to Sperantia Blackstone, who had been hovering in the background near her ever-present guard.

"Is this your friend?" Prim asked Andromeda.

"Yes," Andromeda replied, her voice catching just a bit.

"No, I'm not, Meda," Sperantia said through clenched teeth.

Andromeda looked apologetically at Prim. "I…I'm sorry," she stammered. "This is Speri…I mean, Sperantia Blackstone."

I glanced over my shoulder at Johanna. "I think we can leave them here for a bit," I said softly. "I need to get to rehab soon."

Johanna leaned down until her lips almost touched my ear. "And miss the fireworks?" she whispered. "The little Loyalist looks like she's about to explode!"

I could tell that both Sperantia and Andromeda were tense, but I had to trust the guard to step in if things looked like they were going to get out of hand. Prim was even now extending her hand towards Sperantia, and, for a moment, I doubted the wisdom of my idea to bring both girls to the hospital. Sperantia's arms were rigid, her fingers curled towards her palms as Prim stepped forward, a friendly smile on her face.

"I'm Primrose Everdeen," she said. "Nice to meet you, Sperantia."

Sperantia hesitated for several long seconds, until finally she slowly extended her hand, grasping Prim's briefly. "What kind of name is Primrose, anyway?" she asked, in a tone dripping with insolence.

Prim's smile barely flickered. "It's a flower that grows near District Twelve," she explained. "My sister was named after another flower. Katniss."

"Hmmph," Sperantia grunted. "I've never heard of someone naming their kid after a flower."

"My father named Katniss and I," Prim said evenly. "He was killed in a mine accident when I was seven."

Sperantia said nothing, and, for a moment, it seemed that Prim's words had an effect on her. "Sperantia is a nice name," Prim continued. "Does it mean anything?"

"Yes," Sperantia replied. "It means Hope."

I had been just about to tell Prim and the guard that Johanna and I had to leave to go to rehab when Sperantia told Prim what her name meant. "Wait!" I hissed at Johanna, who had already grabbed the handles on the rear of my wheelchair. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as that single word settled over me, and months of confusion and cryptic, nonsensical messages from both Gale and Gamma suddenly made sense.

 _Save Hope._

 _Take both._

 _Protect Hope._

 _Things aren't always what they seem._

 _Hope is the key._

"Your name means Hope?" I asked in a trembling voice.

Sperantia glanced over towards me. "Yes." She paused for a moment before adding, almost reluctantly, "My father named me, too."

"I like it," Prim said with a smile.

"Thanks," Sperantia muttered as she rolled her eyes. She turned towards Johanna and I. "How long are we going to stay here? I don't like how this place smells."

The smile faded from Prim's face. "It smells like this because of the antiseptic and disinfectants that we use. There's a lot of sick and injured people in here. There _is_ a war on, you know."

Sperantia glanced back at Prim. "Yes, I know," she said coldly. "Started by you Rebels."

"Speri –" Andromeda began.

"Don't _call_ me that!" Sperantia erupted. "Only my _friends_ call me that!"

" _What_ is the purpose of all the noise out here?" Dr. Josephus Picardo strode purposefully into the room. He fixed Sperantia with a glare. "Young woman, this is a _hospital_. We are _quiet_ in hospitals. Do you understand me?"

"Do you have any idea who my father is?" Sperantia snapped.

"I do, indeed, Miss Blackstone," Picardo replied. "I, too, am Capitol-born, and I, too, was brought here against my wishes, not to mention against my better judgment. And your father being the Minister of Security carries absolutely no weight here." He examined her closely, paying special attention to her ankle tracker. "You, young miss, are a prisoner. Like it or not. And, I strongly suggest that you behave."

Sperantia was silent for several seconds. Finally, she said, quietly, "If you're Capitol, then you've turned." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder in Andromeda's direction. "Just like her."

Picardo shook his head sadly. "I want what's best for Panem, Miss Blackstone." He glanced at Andromeda. "As I'm sure you do, Miss Snow."

"Yes, I do," Andromeda replied softly.

"Tell me, Miss Blackstone, did you enjoy watching the Games?" Picardo asked suddenly.

The sudden change of subject took Sperantia off guard. "Uhh, yeah. I…sure." She gave Andromeda a contemptuous look. "Well, not as much as _her_ , but…yeah."

Picardo nodded. "Most Capitol-born do," he said. He turned towards me. "Young Victor, if I may, I would like to borrow these two for a bit. There's something that I would like to show them both." He smiled at the guard. "You as well, of course, Soldier."

I wondered what Picardo was planning, but I didn't ask questions. "Sure. I have to get to rehab…in fact I'm already late." Truthfully, the shock of my discovery had pushed rehab completely out of my mind – but I was grateful that Picardo was willing to take both girls for a bit. Judging from Prim's expression, she really didn't want Sperantia around anyway. Not that I could blame her.

Picardo smiled. "Excellent. Come along, ladies."

I watched as Picardo herded both Andromeda and Sperantia down the corridor, with the guard following close behind. As soon as they turned a corner, I looked up at Johanna. "Let's go," I said. "Sorry. You're back to pushing me."

Johanna fell in behind me and, with a quick goodbye to Prim – who I could see was still upset – we headed towards the rehab clinic. We didn't get far, though. Johanna suddenly stopped near a door marked "Utility," and, after glancing around to make sure that we weren't being watched, slid the door open and quickly pushed my chair through the opening. Once we were both inside the cramped room she slid the door shut behind her and fumbled with the latch.

"Shit," she muttered. "No lock."

"Jo, would you mind telling me what the hell you're doing?" I asked sharply.

The room was musty and poorly lit. There were cleaning supplies stacked on shelves. The smell of disinfectant was strong. Johanna spun my chair around until I was facing her and then squatted down until she was eye level with me.

"You first, Handsome," she said. "You tell me why you damn near passed out when that little bitch told you about her name."

"I didn't –"

"Bullshit." Johanna leaned forward and gripped the arms of my chair tightly, her knuckles white with tension. "I saw your reaction when she said that her name meant 'Hope.' Now tell me what the fuck it means."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered.

"Once again – bullshit." Johanna relaxed her grip on my chair, but didn't let go completely. "Let's try this one more time."

I shook my head. "You'll think I'm crazy."

"I already do," Johanna said conversationally. "You're a Victor. All of us are crazy."

"You won't believe me," I continued.

"Try me," Johanna replied.

There was no way Johanna was going to let me go anywhere until I told her about the strange visions of Gale and Gamma. Well, she asked for it. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

"It all started," I began, "when I was lifted out of my arena, right after I survived my Games –"

* * *

"- And that's what caused my reaction," I finished. "It can't be coincidence. Every time they visited they threw more hints at me. And with her name actually meaning 'Hope' –"

"Handsome, I'll say this once. You tell anyone else and you end up in a rubber room." Johanna eyed me skeptically. "Maybe you should just -"

"Don't you see?" I asked, a note of pleading creeping into my voice. "During the rescue, when I saw that Andromeda was helping Casca, I thought it was her that Gale and Gamma had been talking about. But it's _not_ her. It's Sperantia!"

"Did you notice one small detail?" Johanna asked.

"What?" I snapped.

"She's a Loyalist," Johanna pointed out. "Didn't you see her in there? She all but spit in that Primrose girl's face – and the only reason she didn't is because she doesn't want to end up in solitary again."

I rubbed one hand over my face. "Yeah," I said wearily. "I know. But all the clues point to her."

"Look, Handsome," Johanna said, her voice surprisingly soft, "I don't see her 'converting' any time soon. She may have value as a hostage at some point –"

"You sound like Coin now," I muttered.

"You don't need to get insulting," Johanna chided me gently. She stood up. "We can't hide in here all day long. Come on."

"What am I gonna do about Sperantia?" I asked, as Johanna opened the door, glanced in both directions, and then quickly wheeled me back into the corridor.

"Right now, not a damn thing," Johanna replied. "Because, at this moment, I need to get you to rehab. You need to get your strength back. I'll be fucked if I'm gonna push this damn chair all over this gopher hole for much longer."

But, as Johanna pushed me towards rehab, I was unable to shake one nagging thought. I now knew that Sperantia was the "Hope" that Gamma had spoken of – now I just had to figure out exactly _why_ she was so important. And that's what had me worried.

* * *

Rehab was much worse than I could have imagined. By the time the therapist was finished with me, I was a sweating, trembling mess. And the worst part about was that they expected me back at the same time the next day.

After I finished up, I wanted nothing more than to return to my quarters, get cleaned up, and rest, but that was not to be. Johanna and I still needed to retrieve Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone from the care of Dr. Josephus Picardo before we did anything else. And we found that both girls were more than willing to leave.

In fact, they were both very subdued when Dr. Picardo turned them over to us. Neither girl scarcely said a word as we returned them to their quarters – Andromeda, to her compartment near Coin's quarters, and Sperantia to her new quarters on what had become known as the "Capitol" level, due to the influx of so many Capitol expats living there. Her guard would remain – Coin had made it quite clear that she was to always remain under guard – but the responsibilities for her day-to-day routine would now be handled by the Liaison Team of Delly Cartwright and Petronia Goldsmith.

Sperantia's change of attitude both confused me and aroused my curiosity. Her hostility towards Prim Everdeen – one of the most likeable people that I had ever met – showed me that our work in converting her would not be easy, yet she displayed none of that attitude when Johanna and I picked her up. Not only were both girls subdued, but they both showed signs of having recently been crying. _Picardo has something to do with this,_ I thought. _But what did he do, exactly?_

I got my answer minutes after returning to my quarters. Instead of cleaning up, I immediately called Picardo. I wanted to know exactly what he had said or done to spark such a dramatic change in Sperantia's hostile attitude. And, as it turned out, what he had done was nothing short but a stroke of genius.

Since his arrival in District Thirteen, Beetee Latier had tirelessly worked at compromising the Capitol's information and communications network. He was the reason why we could override Capitol programming to broadcast propos. And he had made it a habit to download and copy each file that he discovered along the way. Most of these files contained mundane information regarding the day-to-day minutiae of the government of Panem, but there were a few that Beetee had tagged for further examination. These files all contained information pertaining to the Hunger Games.

One subset of Hunger Games files was labeled "Tribute Post-Mortem Examinations." In effect, these were records of autopsies conducted on each Tribute that had ever died in the Games. Beetee had made these files available to the medical staff in District Thirteen. Since most Tributes died violent deaths in the arena, the Holo-vids and photographs contained in the file proved to be a valuable training tool for the pathologists in Thirteen, most of whom had never autopsied a violent death before the Rebellion began.

Picardo had explained that Dr. Aurelius had suggested the use of the Holo-vids and photographs to drive home the point that the Games were real – that real children died annually for the Capitol's entertainment. And when Picardo discovered that Sperantia Blackstone – a hard-core Loyalist – was present in his clinic, he realized that he had the perfect opportunity to test the theory.

It worked better than he had hoped.

"Both young ladies had been ardent fans of the Games," Picardo had explained. "And, in some abstract way, they both realized that the Tributes whose deaths they cheered were actually dying. However, it's another thing entirely to see a fourteen-year-old Tribute that had been cut down during the Bloodbath to be laid out on an autopsy table, completely naked, while pathologists examine the wounds in an attempt to discern which sword cut was the actual fatal blow."

"Why bother?" I had asked.

"Why, to improve training methods, of course!" Picardo had replied with a dry laugh. "The Training Center only had a few short days to work with. They needed to use that time as efficiently as possible. And what better use of time than to demonstrate the best places to stab someone?"

Picardo had admitted that it took some doing to penetrate Sperantia's shield. Dr. Aurelius had anticipated that some people would not be very moved by the autopsy videos themselves, so he had Beetee add clips from each Tribute's biographical Holo-vid. Most of these short bios were difficult to watch by themselves, as it was apparent that most of the Tributes featured in them were scared to death. The impact that they had by adding that Tribute's autopsy was enough to effect even the most fanatical Loyalist.

That explained the girls' somber mood. Now I just had to figure out how to build on that and try to really crack through Sperantia's shell.

* * *

"I'm leaving tonight."

I watched as Katniss quickly stuffed some essentials into a small duffel bag. She had barely spoken since returning to my quarters earlier, and now I knew the reason why. Coin was sending her back into the field.

 _We were just reunited! Fuck Coin! This isn't fair!_ "When…when did they tell you?" I asked softly.

"Two hours ago," Katniss replied tersely. "I barely had time to find Prim and my mother and tell them that I was going."

"Did they say where?"

Katniss snorted in disgust. "Classified. They're worried that Snow may make a move towards me, now that he doesn't have you and the others anymore. All I know is that it's a 'pacified' district." She wadded up a cover-all and threw it angrily into her bag. "It isn't fair!" she wailed as she spun towards me. I could see her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I just got you back!"

Painfully I rose from my chair and held out my arms. Katniss collapsed into them and clung to my shoulders, her head buried in my chest. "Hey," I said gently as I held her, "listen. I'm not going anywhere, okay? Go do the shoot, and I'll be here for you when you return." I tilted her head up and smiled at her. "Who knows? I may even 'work' by the time you get back."

"About that," Katniss choked out. "I…I didn't mean to…I mean, I really wanted to…"

"Me too," I assured her. "It's okay, Katniss."

"No," she said firmly. "No, it's not. I acted like it was your fault." She pressed her face against my chest again and her shoulders heaved with her sobs. "How can you stand being around me? I'm such a bitch!"

"After everything that we've been through?" I asked as I held her close to me. "You ain't getting' rid o' me _that_ easy, Sweetheart!"

Katniss chuckled through her tears. "You do a horrible imitation of Haymitch, Peeta." She looked up at me again and clumsily wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand. "I just wanted everything to be perfect, you know?"

"I know," I said. "And it will. When you get back."

A quick knock caused us both to glance at the door. The door slid open a crack and a man's voice called out, "Ya'll decent?"

"Come on in, Haymitch," I replied resignedly.

The door slid open all the way, revealing Haymitch and Jackson. Haymitch's eyebrows rose when he saw Katniss and I still holding each other. "Not interruptin' anything, I hope?"

"Oh, please," Katniss muttered in disgust as she released me and stepped away, scooping up her duffel bag, bow, and quiver of arrows.

"Ready?" Jackson asked.

"No," Katniss replied flatly, "but let's get this over with."

Katniss abruptly turned towards me and pressed her lips warmly against mine. "See you soon," she whispered.

"I'll be waiting," I whispered back.

And, as I watched Katniss stride towards the elevators, flanked by Jackson and Haymitch, I heard Haymitch say, "Now _that's_ more like it, Sweetheart!"

Just before I slid the door shut, I heard Katniss reply, "What the fuck does _that_ mean, Haymitch?"

I smiled. I knew exactly what he meant. And I slept very well that night.

 **PART VII**

" _Everything is ready, President Snow."_

 _Coriolanus Snow sat rigidly as a stylist carefully brushed powder onto his cheeks. "Very well, Spartacus," he replied. "Just a moment more. I want to look my best for the denizens of District Thirteen."_

 _The stylist finally stepped back and examined her work with a critical eye. "You look wonderful, sir," she said, hoping all the while that she sounded sincere._

" _I certainly hope so," Snow said quietly. He examined himself in the mirror that the stylist held. "This will do. You may go."_

 _Once the stylist had left, Snow turned to a small group assembled to one side. "You may begin," he intoned solemnly._

" _Yes, sir." A pair of technicians labored at a makeshift workstation. "We're sending the alert tone out now. When the light on the camera turns green, the connection has been established, and the other party will be displayed on the screen next to the camera."_

" _How long before you receive a reply?" Snow asked impatiently._

" _If someone is listening on the other end, Mr. President, we should receive a response momentarily," the technician replied._

 _The second technician gazed at her screen in amazement. "We have received an acknowledgement of our message, sir," she said, her voice filled with awe. "The first 'Red Line' message since the end of the Dark Days!"_

* * *

 _The on-duty communications technician stared uncomprehendingly at the strange message that was scrolling across his computer screen._ The "Red Line?" _He shook his head._ What the hell was the "Red Line?"

 _The technician, however, was well-trained. Adjusting his headset, he quickly punched in a call-code and his call was answered almost immediately._

" _Duty officer," said the voice in his headset._

" _Comm watch here, Lieutenant," the technician replied. "I have a strange incoming on a reserved frequency."_

" _What freek?" the duty officer asked._

" _Something called the 'Red Line.'"_

" _Acknowledge receipt immediately, Soldier," The duty officer's voice took on an urgent tone. "_ Do not _break the connection. And stand by."_

" _Wilco." The communications technician was well-trained. He immediately sent an "Acknowledge" message, placed the incoming call in "Standby" mode – and waited._

 _The duty officer was well-trained also. As soon as he finished with the call from the comm room, he punched in a call-code that he had only rarely had to use before and waited for a response._

 _Again, the call was answered promptly. "Command Duty Officer, Major Zander."_

" _Major, this is the communications duty officer. Ma'am, I have an incoming Red Line message. Is the President available?"_

 _Zander's eyes widened at the words "Red Line." She knew of its existence, of course, but had never thought that she would see it in use. Until just now. "Stand by," she ordered tersely. She tapped in a call-code from memory and cursed under her breath when she received an immediate message that the other party was unavailable. Quickly she entered a text-only message on her commicuff and waited impatiently for her phone to buzz._

 _She didn't have to wait for long. The phone buzzed less than a minute later. Major Zander answered it as soon as it sounded. "Zander."_

" _What's the emergency, Major?" Colonel Boggs asked softly._

" _Comm has a Red Line message on hold, sir," she replied tersely._

" _Advise comm that the President is on her way there," Boggs said after a brief delay. "And Major? Have Andromeda Snow located and brought to comm." He paused for a moment before adding, "Soldier Peeta Mellark as well."_

" _Yes, sir," Zander replied – but the connection had already been broken. Zander wasn't offended by the brusqueness displayed by Boggs. He was an efficient man and didn't waste time on niceties. Instead, she did exactly as she had been ordered to do._

* * *

I was with Johanna Mason, Effie Trinket, and Andromeda Snow, visiting the hydroponic farm, when the soldiers arrived looking for Andromeda and me.

A technician had been eagerly explaining, in detail, exactly how hydroponic farming worked when the pair of unsmiling soldiers, without explanation, announced that they had been ordered to escort Andromeda Snow and Soldier Mellark to the communications center. I knew that it would be useless to either argue or question the soldiers regarding these strange orders, so we did the only logical thing. We went with them.

Andromeda and I were only too glad to leave Effie and Johanna to the hydroponics lecture, and I saw Johanna wave goodbye to me by extending her middle finger in my general direction as Andromeda and I disappeared around a bend in the corridor. I was curious, of course, as to why we had been summoned, but relieved that we had been given an out. Effie and Johanna were not so lucky.

We quickly arrived in the comm center. I noticed that Coin was seated at a small table, directly opposite a large video screen and a camera. I had seen this set-up before. It looked like the same set-up that Coin used to make video addresses to District Thirteen, and again I wondered why Andromeda and I had been brought here.

Coin barely acknowledged our presence. "Make sure that they are off-camera, Boggs," she ordered.

Boggs beckoned Andromeda and I over. "Yes, ma'am."

"We're ready here, President Coin," a technician said.

"What's going on, Boggs?" I whispered.

"Something I've never seen before, and thought I would never see," Boggs replied softly. "Now, quiet."

Coin took a deep breath. "You may begin."

As we watched, a green light suddenly appeared on the camera as the video screen flickered to life. I don't know who let out the loudest gasp when the image stabilized – Andromeda or me. And, although I was in the relative safety of District Thirteen, I felt a cold rush of fear clamp down on my spine. I recognized the face on the video screen oh too well.

It was the smiling face of President Coriolanus Snow.

* * *

Snow seemed to peer out of the screen as if examining something closely. "Woman," he said, not unkindly, "would you be so good as to fetch your mayor? Tell him that President Coriolanus Snow wishes to speak with him."

I could see Coin's back stiffen as Snow spoke, but, to her credit, she maintained her composure quite well. "President Snow," she said formally. "My name is Alma Coin. I am the President of District Thirteen."

Snow chuckled. "My abject apologies, Mayor Coin. I was expecting a man. I meant no offense, I assure you."

Coin paused for a split-second before replying. "None taken," she said flatly. "And it's 'President,' _not_ 'Mayor.'"

Snow's smile widened. If it wasn't for his cold stare, I would have almost thought him friendly. "Districts have 'Mayors' in Panem, _not_ 'Presidents.' There is but one president in Panem, Mayor Coin, and you are looking at him."

I had to hand it to Coin. She did not rise to Snow's bait. "You wished to speak to me, President Snow?"

"Indeed, I do, Mayor Coin. You have something there that belongs to me." Snow leaned forward slightly. "It is my desire that it be returned to me forthwith."

"Oh?" Coin clasped her hands in front of her as she leaned forward as well. "When my staff advised me of your incoming Red Line call, I was under the assumption that you were calling to discuss the terms of your surrender."

Snow laughed again, but this time it sounded forced. "You really are delightful, Mayor Coin! I was originally going to order your summary execution, but, the more we speak, the more I am convinced that you are probably my only intellectual equal in this entire country. Tell me, do you play chess?"

"I don't have the time, President Snow," Coin replied evenly.

"Well, life imprisonment will give you the time to learn," Snow replied reassuringly. "Now then, about my property. When can I expect its return?"

"Exactly what 'property' are you referring to?" Coin asked innocently.

"I am, of course, referring to my granddaughter, Andromeda Snow," Snow replied tightly. "And another young lady by the name of Sperantia Blackstone."

"Miss Blackstone is classified as a prisoner of war, President Snow," Coin explained. "Your granddaughter, on the other hand, is our guest – a position that is only fitting for the granddaughter of the President of Panem, who just so happens to have joined the Rebellion."

Coin's words seemed to physically strike Snow, and he actually recoiled away from his camera. "My granddaughter is loyal to me, and to the lawful government of Panem. You, Mayor Coin, are lying."

"Am I?" Coin turned away from the camera and beckoned to Andromeda. "Miss Snow? Please come forward and speak with your grandfather."

"I don't want to," Andromeda whispered.

"Miss Snow," Coin said firmly, "I won't ask a third time."

I looked up at Andromeda. She was visibly shaking. She was terrified, but I knew that she needed to speak to her grandfather. "Go ahead, Meda," I said reassuringly. "I'll be right here."

For long seconds, Andromeda didn't move. Then, finally, she nodded once and walked, ever so slowly, to Coin's table. Coin rose and pulled the chair out for her. Andromeda murmured thanks, sat down carefully, and then turned to face the video screen.

And her grandfather, President Coriolanus Snow.

* * *

"Andromeda." Snow's voice caught in his throat.

"Hello, Grandpa," Andromeda said, her voice quivering.

Snow's lips twitched in a smile. "You look...healthy. Are you being well-treated?"

She only hesitated for a split-second. "Yes." A longer pause. "Now I am," she added. "The food isn't very good, though, and I am getting tired of wearing gray and black all the time."

"Minister Blackstone is here with me," Snow said. "He awaits word of Sperantia."

"Speri is okay," Andromeda said tightly. "I saw her only yesterday."

"That's good." Snow paused and looked down at his hands, folded in front of him and resting on his desk. "Andromeda, your parents and I are concerned about you."

"I'm fine," she replied softly.

Snow looked up, obviously fighting for control. "You heard what Mayor Coin said about you?"

"I did," Andromeda whispered.

"And?"

"I don't care about politics, Grandpa," she said, her voice quivering. "I care about people. People like Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

"And the people back home?" Snow asked. "What of them?"

"I care about them, too," Andromeda replied. She took a deep breath. "Ever since we visited District Twelve I've thought about the people that I saw there. People so poor that they can never get enough to eat, or sleep in a warm, dry house. And then I would think of us in the Capitol and how our lives are so much better _because_ of what the districts provided for us. I was always taught that the districts couldn't exist without the Capitol, and that the Capitol couldn't exist without the districts."

"That's the way it has always been," Snow said. "Andromeda, tell Mayor Coin that you wish to return to the Capitol, and we will never speak of this again."

Andromeda lowered her head. "I can't."

Snow's voice hardened. "You are against me, then?"

"Grandpa, I love you," Andromeda said tearfully. "But don't you see? It's all wrong! And I'm not _against_ you. I'm _for_ Katniss, and Peeta, and all the others."

Snow's face clouded with grief…or maybe it was anger…or a combination of the two. Andromeda was crying openly now. I looked around and caught Boggs' eye. _Stop this,_ I mouthed silently.

Boggs looked at me helplessly and, just as silently, mouthed _I can't_. This was not going well at all. I had never seen Coriolanus Snow so close to losing control. Andromeda was trembling now. I had to say _something_.

"President Coin –" I began, and it was then that the transmission abruptly ended.

"What happened?" Coin snapped.

"Loss of signal," a grim-faced technician replied curtly. Both technicians worked rapidly as they struggled to regain the connection.

"Get it back!" Coin ordered.

"We can't, ma'am," the technician explained. "The transmission was broken on their end. The Capitol is not responding."

"May I leave now?" Andromeda asked in a small voice.

"No, you may not!" Coin barked. To the technicians, she added, "I don't care what you need to do. Re-establish comm!"

"Ma'am –" one of the technicians began.

"Please!" Andromeda begged.

I began to roll my chair over to the table where Andromeda was sitting, and then stopped, locked the wheels, and pushed myself up awkwardly. Painfully, I managed to lurch to the table. Andromeda had buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook with each sob. Gently, I placed one hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me, her face mottled and tear-stained.

"Peeta," she whispered, "I want to go."

"Come on, Meda," I replied softly as I slid my hand down her arm to take her hand in mine. "Let's go."

"She stays right where she is, Soldier!" Coin all but snarled at me.

I slid my arm around Andromeda's shoulder and pulled her to me protectively. "President Coin," I said respectfully, "even if you did get the connection back, do you think she could have continued to talk to her grandfather?" I looked down at the sniffling girl. "Help me back to my chair, will you?"

"O…Okay," Andromeda stammered as she did her best to support me as I stumbled back to my chair.

"Who do you think you are?" Coin asked in a low, menacing voice. "You need to remember just who is in command here, Soldier!"

"You are, ma'am," I replied. "But Andromeda Snow is _not_ a soldier. She's a pampered, spoiled –"

"I'm not spoiled," Andromeda's soft voice said indignantly, even as she helped me settle back in my chair.

"– fourteen-year-old granddaughter of the most powerful man in Panem, who just now admitted to that same man – who she loves very deeply – that she betrayed him." I finished, ignoring Andromeda's interruption.

"Soldier Mellark has a point, President Coin," Boggs added. "The girl is still struggling to adapt here, just as all new arrivals struggle. She wouldn't be of further use in her present condition."

Coin glared at Boggs. "You too, Boggs?"

Boggs inclined his head slightly. "One of my duties is to advise you, Madam President. That is what I am doing now."

Coin alternately glared at me, then at Boggs. Finally, with a great deal of effort, she said calmly, "Miss Snow – Soldier Mellark. You are excused. Colonel Boggs, I wish a word with you in my private office. Ten minutes."

After she stalked out, I beckoned Boggs over to me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in the middle of that."

Boggs shrugged. "It was obvious to me that the president needed a little guidance," he said carefully. "I just did my job and gave her some sound advice."

"So, what happens in ten minutes?" I asked.

"Nothing that you need to concern yourself with, Soldier." Boggs said, and then added, "Just remember, she's under tremendous strain." He patted me on the shoulder. "You two get out of here."

As Andromeda and I turned to leave, Boggs stopped us one last time. Bending low over me in my chair, he said softly, "I know they didn't say anything yesterday, with security being what it is and all – but she's been sent to Eight. Easy, no-stress mission. With luck, she'll be home in a few days."

"Thanks," I said sincerely. I felt better. Eight was one of the first districts to throw off the rule of the Capitol and was firmly in Rebel hands.

Katniss should be as safe there as she was here in Thirteen.

 **PART VIII**

" _President Snow, Minister Antonius is here," Spartacus announced._

 _Snow held up one finger in a "wait" gesture, never glancing up from the book that he was reading. Spartacus waited patiently as the President of Panem absently reached for a bookmark, laying it carefully on the page before slowly closing the book. Only then did he finally looking up and acknowledge his Chief of Security._

" _I'll see him in a moment," Snow said. "Shut the door, Spartacus."_

 _Spartacus did as he was ordered, and then turned and faced Coriolanus Snow, his arms crossed behind his back, his face carefully expressionless. "Is there something that you wish, sir?" he asked respectfully._

" _Yes, there is," Snow replied pleasantly. "Order the immediate arrests of the technicians responsible for maintaining the automobile fleet."_

" _Sir?"_

" _Was I not specific enough, Spartacus?" Snow asked, as a hint of sarcasm crept into his voice._

" _Yes, sir, you were," Spartacus replied. "But – what shall I charge them with."_

" _Gross incompetence." Snow's lips curled back in an unpleasant smile. "Apparently, the 'black box' recorder on the sedan that Casca Bishop 'appropriated' failed to function properly. If it was functioning, there most certainly would have been a record of my granddaughter's incipient treachery."_

 _Spartacus felt the cold grip of fear seize his spine and he swallowed heavily. "Sir, I – that is to say, the techs, they – what I'm trying, sir, to say –"_

" _Yes?" Snow asked softly. "What_ are _you trying to say, Spartacus?"_

 _Spartacus inhaled deeply before replying, his nose filled with the cloying scent of blood and roses. "Sir, the recorder functioned perfectly. I have a complete record of the conversations between Bishop and your granddaughter."_

" _Oh?" Snow leaned back in his chair and peered at Spartacus as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Please enlighten me as to what part of your microcephalic brain caused you to think that withholding that information from me was a good idea?"_

" _Sir," Spartacus replied hastily, "I was going to bring the matter to your attention, but I just wasn't sure how to…" Spartacus lowered his eyes as his voice trailed off._ That's it, _he said to himself,_ I'm a dead man.

" _Wasn't sure how to tell me that my granddaughter was a Rebel?" Snow finished. "That my own flesh and blood had committed treason? Were those the words that you were searching for, Spartacus?"_

" _Yes, sir," Spartacus admitted miserably. "President Snow, I wasn't deliberately keeping anything from you, sir. I…I just couldn't seem to find the words."_

" _Spartacus, necessity forces me to retain your services to me," Snow said quietly. "That, and the fact that, up until now, you have served me well and faithfully. You made an error in judgment. But know this – I will not forgive any future errors. Do I make myself clear?"_

" _Completely, sir," Spartacus replied, the relief evident in his voice._

" _Good," Snow said firmly. "Now send Antonius in."_

" _Yes, sir."_

* * *

" _Sit down, Antonius," President Coriolanus Snow ordered, waving one hand towards a chair in front of his desk._

 _Minister Antonius did as he was ordered. He had been a soldier all his life, and was accustomed to instant obedience to orders._

" _Is everything in order?" Snow asked, as soon as Antonius had settled into the chair._

" _Yes, sir," Antonius replied. "As per your orders," he added slowly._

 _Snow picked up on the hesitation in the other man's voice. "Are you certain?"_

 _Antonius leaned forward. "President Snow, I would have felt more comfortable if we had more time to run diagnostics and simulations. Plus, there's the matter of the warhead itself. Sir, this ordnance pre-dates the Dark Days. There's no way to predict if there will be problems."_

" _I was given to believe," Snow said coldly, "that your people are constantly inspecting such dated weapons systems."  
_

" _They do, sir," Antonius replied hastily. "I'm an old soldier, Mr. President. I believe in redundancy. And I also believe in thorough testing."_

" _Well, there's no way to really test without actually employing the weapon, now, is there?" Snow pointed out._

" _No, sir," Antonius admitted._

 _Snow picked up an envelope and leaned across his desk, extending the envelope towards Antonius. "Your written orders, Minister," Snow explained. "You will deploy tonight."_

" _Tonight?" Antonius gulped. "Sir, we need updated weather information, specifically wind direction and speed, if there is any forecasted precipitation –"_

" _When was the last time you received a meteorological update?" Snow asked abruptly._

" _Eight hours ago, sir."_

" _Were the conditions satisfactory then?" Snow continued._

" _Yes, sir," Antonius replied reluctantly._

" _Then use that data," Snow ordered. His eyes narrowed. "Is there a problem, Minister?"_

" _No," Antonius said slowly. "No problem, sir."_

 _Snow smiled broadly. "Excellent! I shall expect your report on the weapons' effectiveness first thing tomorrow morning. You have your orders. Carry them out."_

 _Antonius rose from his chair. "Yes, President Snow." He turned to leave. "Will that be all, sir?"_

" _One more thing," Snow said. Antonius stopped and turned back around to face him. "The bioweapon that we deployed against District Thirteen some years ago, was not nearly as effective as I had been led to believe at the time." Snow gave Antonius a pointed look. "I was quite disappointed with the results. I do not wish to be disappointed this time. Do I make myself clear?"_

 _Antonius felt his stomach knot with fear as he replied. "Yes, sir."_

* * *

 _The missile was over one hundred years old, but had been well maintained. The crews assigned to the care and upkeep of the Capitol's aging missile fleet were meticulous in their attention to detail. Still, there was a grim sense of urgency as they prepared the missile for launch. Each man and woman assigned to the launch crew felt both anticipation and dread at what they were about to do. Anticipation at launching one of these silver-skinned behemoths, and dread at the knowledge of what destruction they were capable of._

 _They were all Loyalists, however, and were well convinced of the righteousness of their task. They had all suffered to some extent during the Rebellion and saw nothing wrong in doing their part to bring this war to a quick end. And so, after they affixed the warhead to the missile, the technicians all personally autographed the deadly cargo, sending their own messages to the missile's intended victims._

 _The countdown progressed smoothly, and the crew cheered as the missile burst into blinding life, rocketing skyward from the launch pad. They eagerly tracked its flight and all noted with pride that it performed perfectly. And, after about fifteen minutes, the missile plunged towards the earth, and the crew watched as the telemetry from the weapon that they had so diligently maintained for so many years suddenly disappeared, causing the crew to cheer once more._

 _The loss of telemetry could only mean one thing. The warhead had detonated, as designed, at an altitude of one kilometer. As far as nuclear warheads went, it wasn't very large. It didn't have to be, for its target was not hardened nor sturdily built. And, in the dark winter sky over Panem's heartland, a new, false sun flared brilliantly, as a signal that this war had just taken a new, infinitely more lethal turn._

 _And, beneath the false sun, thousands of people in District Eight were instantly incinerated._


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

 **PART I**

" _I can't do this."_

 _Katniss Everdeen paused at the entrance to the field hospital. Even though District Eight had been under Rebel control for months, it still saw a great deal of military activity. Trains crisscrossed the district, transporting soldiers, equipment, and food to units fighting the Loyalist forces as well as to recently pacified districts. Forward supply depots were located near rail lines._

 _So were field hospitals._

" _Katniss," Messalla said in a quiet, urgent voice. "I know it's hard. But these soldiers are from all over Panem. It would be a real boost to their morale to see you in person."_

 _Katniss felt her stomach knotting at the thought of having to enter the hospital – in reality, a converted warehouse that had formerly been used to store bales of cotton from District Eleven and wool from District Ten – and she felt herself suddenly chilled by a nervous, clammy sweat._ I'm no good with this sort of thing, _she said to herself._ Peeta is so much better at visiting with the wounded!

" _Is there a problem?" Haymitch's voice crackled in her ear._

 _Messalla stood before Katniss and gripped her shoulders firmly. "We'll be right there with you, Katniss. Right there." He leaned forward and said, so quietly that only she could hear, "You can do this, Katniss. You can."_

 _Katniss looked into Messalla's eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. "No offense, Messalla," she said, forcing a wry smile, "but this is one of those times that I really wish Cressida was here."_

 _Messalla smiled at the reluctant Mockingjay. "I know how you feel," he replied softly. "I have those thoughts at least ten times every day."_

" _Hello?" Haymitch's voice took on an impatient tone. "Do you copy? Is there a problem?"_

" _No problem," Katniss replied curtly, before adding, under her breath, "especially for an asshole orbiting safely overhead in a hovercraft."_

" _Say again, Sweetheart," Haymitch's voice crackled once again. "I didn't quite copy that last."_

" _Shit," Katniss muttered, as Messalla tried, and failed, to conceal his grin of amusement. "I said, 'no problem, and we're entering the hospital now.'"_

" _That's what I thought you said," Haymitch replied laconically. "We'll land and pick you up as soon as you're done. Paylor's expectin' us back in the city for some rebuilding dog and pony show that she has planned."_

" _We copy, Haymitch," Messalla confirmed. Turning to Katniss, he asked, "Are you ready?"_

 _Katniss nodded reluctantly. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Let's do this."_

 _Jackson stepped forward, paused just long enough to pat Katniss's shoulder, and pulled the door open. "After you, Soldier," she said firmly._

 _Katniss squared her shoulders, took another deep breath, and stepped into the hospital._

* * *

 _It was all Katniss could do to maintain her composure while in the hospital._

 _She moved from bed to bed, offering a quiet word and a soft touch to the broken bodies that inhabited each. She was at once amazed and heartbroken by the responses that she got from each wounded soldier, for almost all the questions that she received regarded Peeta Mellark's health since his rescue from the Capitol. Not once was there an inquiry from any of the wounded men and women about the severity of their own injuries._

 _Finally, as dusk began to fall over this remote corner of District Eight, Katniss was, at long last, allowed to step outside, her 'morale-boosting' duties finally concluded. The others – Messalla, Castor, Pollux, Jackson, and the rest of Katniss's security squad – remained inside, allowing her a few minutes to herself. Katniss was grateful for their perception…after all, she despised showing weakness to anyone, and it would be most embarrassing to have any of them witness her throwing up into the trash barrel that was conveniently placed next to the hospital entrance._

 _Her nausea passed quickly. Katniss straightened, rinsed her mouth out from her canteen, and tucked a couple of strands of hair behind her ear that had worked themselves free of her braid. The sun had just disappeared beneath the horizon, and the air was bitterly cold, but there were no clouds in the darkening sky. There was no moon this evening, and a few of the brighter stars began to make their appearance._

 _Katniss tilted her head back, pulling deeply on her canteen, this time swallowing, rather than spitting out, the cold water. Absently she capped the canteen and slid it back into its pouch, glancing up at the sky as she did so. As she watched, a dark shape glided almost silently overhead – the command and control hovercraft that Haymitch was in, ready at a moment's notice to swoop down and scoop up Katniss and the rest of her party. She shook her head slightly and snorted softly in disgust – she was almost as safe here as she would have been back in District Thirteen – but Jackson, like Boggs, was a stickler for SOP. And the Standard Operating Procedures when the Mockingjay was in the field was to have the hovercraft always airborne._

 _Katniss was about to turn away when a different object caught her eye – a bright yellowish-orange streak hurtling across the twilight sky. She stared at uncomprehendingly for a moment…it was moving too fast for a hovercraft, and Katniss had the impression that it was flying much higher than a hovercraft could ever fly. At first, she thought that it may be a shooting star – she and Peeta had watched a swarm of such objects one night when they were in District Ten, in a rare peaceful moment before his capture – but the shooting stars had been moving much faster, and were not nearly as bright. Dimly, she remembered that Haymitch had told her once that, in the days before the Catastrophes, the people that had lived here before – the North Americans – as well as others that lived in faraway lands across the seas, had launched objects into outer space, hundreds or even thousands of kilometers above the Earth, and that these objects sometimes fell back and created a blazing orange trail such as this object was doing._

 _That_ must _be it! Katniss pushed the hospital door open and called out excitedly, "Hey! You guys! Come outside. You_ have _to see this!"_

 _Not waiting for a response, Katniss turned her gaze back to the darkened skies, and was disappointed when she noticed that the brightly glowing trail seemed to mysteriously disappear. She heard the voices of her companions as they approached the hospital door, but didn't turn away from her increasingly futile search._ Shit. It was _right there_! What happened to it?

 _Katniss was still searching for the object when her entire world was enveloped in an impossibly bright white light. Everything around her was illuminated as if the sun had decided to make a sudden, unexpected reappearance. Katniss could even see clearly a scrawny wild dog, a squirrel clutched in its jaws, running across the compound between her and the source of the light._

 _That dog and squirrel were the last things that she remembered seeing, before her eyes exploded in excruciating pain, and darkness enveloped her completely._

 **PART II**

"Out of the question."

I was in the Command Dining Facility, pushing the rest of my unappetizing meal around on my tray – _I'll say this for the Capitol. They love their food and they know how to prepare a real meal. If I ever see another turnip again as long as I live, it'll be too soon_ – listening to the latest propaganda proposal from Plutarch Heavensbee and his ever-present shadow, Fulvia Cardew. And the key word here was "proposal."

"Peeta," Plutarch said, his voice at once wheedling and confident, "you need to remember the impact that this would have in the districts. Think of it – love blooms in the middle of the Rebellion. After all, Finnick and Annie have agreed…more or less. If you and Katniss would –"

I raised one hand and held it, palm out. "Plutarch. Let me say this as clear as I can. There is no way – _no way_ – that either Katniss or I will ever agree to a wedding that is nothing more than a propaganda spectacle. If Finnick and Annie want to have a wedding that's holo'ed all over Panem, then that's their business. In fact, I can see how Finnick would enjoy the spectacle – he and Annie had to keep their relationship a secret for so long, that he'll relish the opportunity to rub it in Snow's face." I paused for a moment, and then said, in a quieter tone, "But not Katniss – and not me. And don't even think about asking Katniss when she gets back from Eight. I feel confident that I speak for her."

"You know," Fulvia said archly, "President Coin could simply order your cooperation. It is for the good of the Rebellion, after all."

I had to restrain myself from laughing in her face, settling for a derisive snort instead. "And you would get two people obviously going through the motions. Take it from me, Katniss is the worst actress you've ever seen. Her performance would be so transparent that she wouldn't fool anyone." I paused for a moment before continuing. "Besides, she already has control of our reproductive organs. I'm just waiting to see who she decides to plant my sperm into."

"Peeta –" Plutarch began, his very voice a warning.

"I said no, Plutarch." I pushed my tray away and rose laboriously to my feet, grabbing my cane as I did so. My physical therapists wanted me out of my wheelchair as much as possible, although they did concede to my using a cane. "Now, if you will both excuse me –"

"Attention." The calm, disembodied female voice cut through the soft buzz of conversation in the mess hall. "The following personnel are to immediately report to the Operations Center. Colonel Boggs. Major Festuca. Major Zander. Lieutenant Potter. Plutarch Heavensbee. Soldier Peeta Mellark –"

I glanced at Plutarch and received a shrug in response. I sighed and shuffled after Plutarch, thankful that the Ops Center was on this level. _Yet another meaningless meeting,_ I said to myself. _Coin has probably decided that she, too, was tired of turnips with every meal. Perhaps she will make an announcement that tomorrow's menu will feature fingerling potatoes instead._

I couldn't have been more wrong.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Coin all but whispered.

The intelligence officer shuffled her feet and gazed down at the PADD that she was gripping. "Reports are sketchy, President Coin," she said haltingly, "but we've received information from several independent sources. They all report a brilliant flash, followed by a glowing, mushroom-shaped cloud. The epicenter appears to be what was the primary textile processing center for District Eight."

"Where Paylor is headquartered," Coin muttered.

"Do we have communications with Eight?" Boggs asked.

"Not with Paylor's headquarters, no, sir," the intelligence officer replied. "All of our communications have been with outlying settlements."

I felt nauseous. Katniss – dead? Incinerated, in a single, brilliant flash? After all that she – that _we_ – have been through? I could hear nothing but a roaring in my ears as my throat constricted, making each breath a struggle. I tried to speak, but all I could make was a kind of strangled noise.

"Peeta," Plutarch said urgently. "Listen to me. Katniss shouldn't have been anywhere near that explosion. She was visiting a forward field hospital." He looked up at Boggs. "How far away would she have been?"

Boggs tapped his PADD, and a map of District Eight appeared on the main view screen. He entered a couple of commands and two lights appeared on the map – a steady red glow where the explosion was centered, and a flashing green light to the northeast, towards District Five. "The last report from the hovercraft placed them here –" he circled the green light with a laser pointer "- some seventy to eighty kilometers from the explosion."

Plutarch nodded and looked back at me, his face confident. "See? She was nowhere near there. Perfectly safe."

"There's other factors at play here," a new voice – Beetee Latier's – pointed out. "We still have no idea how big the nuke was."

"We don't even know if it _was_ a nuke, Mr. Latier," Coin pointed out.

"Madam President," Beetee replied patiently, "it couldn't have been anything else. The brilliant flash, the glowing mushroom cloud – those are all hallmarks of a nuclear explosion."

"Holy fucking shit," Festuca muttered. "The old man has gone completely crazy."

"A nuke," I managed to croak, fear gripping my heart. "A nuke."

"Very well," Coin continued. "If it _was_ a nuclear weapon, is there any way to determine how big of a weapon was used?"

"What difference does that make?" Darius Potter muttered. "Isn't it enough that he _used_ one?"

"If we knew how big the weapon was," Boggs explained patiently, "then we can estimate how destructive it was."

"Has anyone even _tried_ to contact our team?" I practically shouted.

"Soldier Mellark," Coin said sternly, "if you cannot maintain control of yourself, you will be escorted from this meeting."

I could feel my fists clench as I glared at Alma Coin. _Does this bitch even_ care? I asked myself. _No, of course not. Pieces in their Games – that's all we ever were._ Well, I, for one, was quite finished with being a pawn. "Those are our people out there, President Coin," I managed to grate out from between clenched teeth. "Not just Katniss – Haymitch, Jackson, Messalla –"

"I'm aware of who is out there, Soldier," Coin replied firmly. "But right now, my immediate concern is whether Snow will try to use one of these weapons on us."

"Radar reports are negative, President Coin," Boggs reported. "Nothing inbound."

"Not that it would matter," Beetee pointed out. "This weapon was most likely delivered by a ballistic missile. Even long-range radar would only give us a few minutes' warning, at most." He paused for a moment while consulting his PADD. "Regarding the size of the weapon…if we had information on how long the fireball lasted, and the final height of the mushroom cloud, I could make a fairly accurate estimate of the weapon's yield."

Boggs glanced at the intelligence officer. "I don't suppose you have that information, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," she said apologetically, before adding, "But, like I said earlier, reports were sketchy, and we're having a lot of trouble communicating with anyone in that area."

Beetee nodded thoughtfully, and then said something that sounded like "Eee em pee."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Latier?" Coin said impatiently.

"I'm sorry, Madam President." Beetee removed his glasses and polished the lenses with a small bandana while he continued to speak. "EMP. Electromagnetic pulse. When a nuclear warhead is detonated, it sends out a very strong pulse of electromagnetic radiation. It can be quite damaging to unshielded electronic equipment, even at a range of hundreds of kilometers." Beetee slipped his glasses back on. "That would account for your difficulties in communications. However, there is another concern. Fallout."

"Radioactive dust from the explosion?" Boggs asked.

Beetee nodded. "Precisely. I don't suppose that we have up-to-date weather information from District Eight? Specifically, wind direction and speed, as well as precipitation?"

Boggs looked at the intelligence officer once more. "Lieutenant?"

"I'll have it in a few minutes, sir," she assured him, never looking up from her PADD as she worked.

Beetee nodded, and then leaned over towards me, placing one hand reassuringly on my arm. "Our team was nowhere near the blast zone, Peeta," he murmured. "They certainly would have seen it, and possibly heard the detonation, but at that distance they should have remained relatively unaffected."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Logically, I knew that Beetee made sense. Emotionally, though, I couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to Katniss and the rest.

 **PART III**

I hate being right about bad things.

Boggs sought me out just as I was finishing my latest round of torture in rehabilitation. Johanna had accompanied me today…ever since the news of the bombing of District Eight yesterday, Andromeda Snow and Casca Bishop had spent the bulk of their waking hours conferring with Coin, Boggs, and the District Thirteen intelligence staff, to get some insight as to what Snow's next move may be. It was just as well. Right now, I didn't want to see anyone named "Snow."

If that sounds unfair on my part, well, it was. But that's just how I felt at that moment.

Boggs entered the physical therapy room just as I was pulling my shirt back on. "I see you're following your schedule," he said with a grim smile.

"You missed the show, Boggsy," Johanna said with a smirk. "Handsome here has some impressive muscles."

I shot a disgusted look at Johanna. "You have news?" I asked Boggs.

Boggs nodded, glanced at the two therapists still in the room, and flicked his eyes towards the door. They took the hint immediately, and, seconds later, the three of us were alone.

I could feel my heart sinking in my chest as Boggs settled onto a stool. "It's bad," I said flatly.

"They're all alive," Boggs replied simply.

It's a good thing that I was sitting down, as there was no way my legs could have supported me at that moment. "Alive?" I managed to croak as I slumped to one side, remaining upright only because Johanna was there to catch me.

"There were some casualties," Boggs continued. "The hovercraft was flaring for a landing when the electromagnetic pulse knocked out their electronics, including the engines. It ended up falling the last few meters. The crew was banged up a bit and Haymitch Abernathy ended up with a broken leg and some cracked ribs – he, of course, was the only one _not_ strapped in."

"Figures," Johanna said with another smirk.

"What about Katniss?" I asked insistently.

"She's alive, Peeta," Boggs said quietly, before adding, "I just want you to remember that."

"What the fuck does _that_ mean?" I demanded, half angry and half frightened.

"Coin has dispatched another hovercraft to bring our team home," Boggs replied slowly. "Katniss was…Peeta, she was outside when the bomb detonated."

"But…but, you and Beetee – hell, _everyone_ said that they were too far away to be hurt by the blast!" I sputtered. "What difference does it make if she was outside?"

"Apparently," Boggs said gently, "she was facing towards the explosion when the warhead detonated."

I looked at Boggs in confusion. "So, what?" I asked angrily. "She saw it?"

"Peeta," Boggs continued, "when a nuclear device detonates, it produces an incredibly bright flash. From where she was standing, it would look to be many times brighter than the sun. She didn't have time to turn away."

I felt sick to my stomach. "So…so, that means that Katniss –"

Boggs nodded and placed his hand on my shoulder. "She's blind, Peeta."

* * *

Blind.

I couldn't even wrap my brain around the idea that Katniss couldn't see. She was – _is_ – a hunter. And there would be no way that she could hunt without her eyes. The very idea that those amazing silvery orbs would be forever dulled…

Henry Elliott, President Coin's personal assistant, was in Coin's outer office when I stomped in, Boggs and Johanna hot on my heels. Alarmed, he looked up from the report that he had been working on, glancing anxiously at all three of us before speaking.

"Soldier Mellark," he managed to finally say. "Colonel Boggs. And, uhh, Miss Mason. I'm sorry, but President Coin is in conference. I can contact you when she has time to –"

"We'll wait," I snapped. I glared defiantly at Boggs.

"Not gonna try to stop me?" I asked snidely.

"I could have stopped you back at the hospital," Boggs replied calmly. "But, short of putting you in restraints, I knew there was no way for me to keep you from doing something stupid – like barge in on President Coin – but I _can_ keep you from making too big of an ass of yourself."

I glanced at Johanna, hoping to get an "I have your back" look, but she just looked embarrassed and unsure – two looks that I've never seen on her. I was about to point those facts out to her when Coin's office door slid open, and she, along with Casca Bishop, Andromeda Snow, and Plutarch Heavensbee, emerged.

"Henry," she said brusquely, "I need you to –" She paused when she saw Boggs, Johanna, and me. "So, Boggs has updated you, Soldier Mellark?"

"Yes," I replied tightly. "I won't take up much of your time, President Coin. I'm here to make one simple request."

Coin crossed her arms over her chest and arched one eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

I took a deep breath. "When the time comes – I kill Snow."

At this, Andromeda let out a sobbing gasp. Plutarch looked surprised, but Casca Bishop's face remained impassive, except for the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in the ghost of a smile. Coin's carefully crafted expression, however, remained unchanged.

"Your request is noted," Coin replied tersely. Surprisingly, her features softened a bit and she stepped forward. Placing one hand on my tense shoulder, she continued, "We were all shaken by this news, Peeta. You are excused from any further obligations today. Take the remainder of the day to try to calm yourself. And know that I have already alerted the staff ophthalmologist at the hospital to expect Katniss Everdeen as his priority patient."

Coin's unexpected gentleness had an immediate effect on me, and suddenly, I felt drained – exhausted. I swayed a bit, gripping my cane as my legs trembled beneath me. "Miss Mason," Coin said, "can you ensure that Soldier Mellark makes it back to his quarters?"

"Uhh…sure. I mean, yes, ma'am," Johanna replied, her tone almost respectful.

"Thank you." Coin turned to Boggs. "I need to speak with you, Colonel. Alone."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied stiffly.

I had just turned to go when Andromeda Snow's anguished voice made me pause. "Peeta," she sobbed, "You don't know how sorry I am about Katniss. And I know you didn't really mean what you just said."

I felt my back stiffen. "Stay away from me," I said, my tone low and flat. To Johanna, I said, "Let's get the fuck outta here."

It was only after Johanna deposited me in my quarters when I realized that I had not so much asked about Haymitch Abernathy's condition.

 **PART IV**

" _Sit down, Boggs," Coin said as she tiredly slumped into her own chair._

 _Boggs slid into the proffered chair and waited while Coin studied something on the computer screen in front of her. He had learned patience in his dealings with the President of District Thirteen. He sat erect, his hands clasping his knees, and didn't say a word._

 _Finally, Coin glanced up. "You've seen the preliminary casualty reports?"_

 _Boggs nodded. "Six to eight thousand dead, upwards of twenty thousand injured. And many of those will die within the next few weeks from radiation poisoning."_

" _Including Paylor," Coin grumbled. "The dead were lucky. They don't have to suffer." Coin paused and rubbed her hands over her face. "We're already having a refugee problem with the survivors streaming out in every direction. I've conferred with the other district leaders and we've ordered a halt to all offensive operations so we can deal with this crisis."_

" _Just as well," Boggs agreed. "The weather has taken a turn for the worse, and our most forwardly-deployed troops wouldn't be able to move much anyway."_

" _Speaking of weather," Coin added, "the prevailing winds on the night of the attack were blowing in our favor. Other than District Eight, only small sections of Districts Five, Seven, and Nine will be affected by fallout. Most of the poison will blow into the Northern Wilds."_

" _Yes, ma'am." Boggs cleared his throat. "Ma'am, about Peeta Mellark –"_

" _One of the most difficult things for me to remember, Boggs," Coin said, interrupting him, "is that people like Mellark and Everdeen were not born here in Thirteen. What he did today, barging into my office like that, was inexcusable…for someone born here. He's learning, like all the others. Just impress upon him the importance of never doing it again." Coin paused and looked Boggs directly in the eye. "And, while we're on the subject, why did you allow him access to my outer office anyway?"_

" _President Coin," Boggs replied carefully, "given his state of mind at the time, I would rather he come here at a time when I could keep an eye on him, as opposed to barging in here alone."_

" _I see," Coin said thoughtfully. "Well, ensure that it does not occur again."_

" _Yes, ma'am."_

" _Our crew should be returning from Eight soon," Coin said, changing the subject. "I've instructed the hospital, and in particular their eye specialist, to give Everdeen top priority." She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face again. "The hospital staff has been very vocal about our plan for treating the injured from Eight. This has not yet been officially announced, Boggs, but you need to know how we're handling that particular problem."_

 _Boggs frowned._ What does she mean, "handling that particular problem?" _"Ma'am," he said slowly, "I'm a soldier, not a physician. I don't understand."_

" _There are upwards of twenty thousand injured from that attack, Boggs," Coin explained patiently. "As it is, our medical facilities are barely up to the task of treating combat wounded. An influx of thousands of additional casualties would completely overwhelm these facilities."_

 _Realization dawned on Boggs. "Does that mean we won't do anything to help them, ma'am?"_

 _His tone was not lost on Coin. "Dammit, Boggs! It's not a matter of 'won't.' It's a matter of 'can't!'" Her eyes dropped to a document on her desk. "And, for your information, I have here the concurrence of the leaders of every allied district in the Rebellion. We're going to quarantine the affected area in District Eight, using provisional units made up of our own walking wounded that haven't yet been cleared to return to full duty." She paused for a moment. "It wasn't an easy decision – but it was the only one that we could take. And, per Beetee Latier, most of the cases of radiation sickness will be dead within a few weeks anyway, despite any efforts that we may have made to save them."_

 _Boggs was silent for a few moments as he digested this information. "We'll lift the quarantine in spring," Coin continued. "By then, there shouldn't be any more radiation sickness casualties left alive. The survivors will then be free to go."_

" _If there are any survivors," Boggs said bitterly. "How are these people expected to survive the winter, with no food or shelter?"_

" _That is the final decision, Colonel," Coin said coldly. "Trying to save all those people would cost us the Rebellion."_

" _It's a hell of a cost for final victory," Boggs muttered._

" _History will judge in our favor, Boggs," Coin said, almost gently. "Now, go on. I know you have work to do, and so do I."_

" _Yes, ma'am," Boggs said, as he rose to his feet._

" _One more thing," Coin said absently, as she shuffled through another stack of reports, "I will have a special staff meeting tomorrow morning, once our team from Eight has returned and we get a more accurate prognosis on the extent of Everdeen's injuries. We have some theories regarding Snow's choice of targets, as well as an assessment of Snow himself. Plus, possible retaliatory measures. Between now and then, I want you to debrief Jackson and be prepared to add her observations to the meeting."_

" _Yes, President Coin," Boggs said, and then added, "Ma'am…about Katniss Everdeen. Does the hospital staff have any hope for her?"_

" _The ophthalmologist…Dr. Fenster, I believe is his name…needs to examine and treat her," Coin replied. "But I certainly hope that her condition is not permanent."_

" _Neither do I, ma'am," Boggs said earnestly._

" _After all," Coin mused, almost to herself as she leafed through a report, "a blind Mockingjay would be of no use to us, now, would she?"_

 **PART V**

I was just about to head to breakfast when there was a soft knock on my door.

"It's open," I called out softly, as I smoothed the top blanket over my narrow bunk.

The door slid open slightly and Johanna stuck her head inside. "Shit," she said disgustingly, as she slid the door open all the way and stepped inside, "I was hoping to catch you buck naked."

"Save it, Jo," I said wearily. "I'm not in the mood."

"My, aren't _we_ a ray of sunshine this morning." Johanna pulled a chair out, spun it around, and plopped down onto it backwards, resting her arms across the chair back as she watched me finish my bed. "Your mood wouldn't have anything to do with a certain someone that returned from Eight yesterday evening?"

I glared at Johanna in response and picked up my cane. "Are you through?" I muttered.

"No," she said, rising to her feet and stepping towards me. She placed one hand on my chest and firmly guided me to a sitting position on my bed. I wasn't yet recovered enough to really resist her, short of whacking her with my cane. Although, I admit, the thought did cross my mind.

"What is it, Jo?" I asked resignedly, as she sat down once again.

"Just this," she replied, leaning forward. "Since I first met you, right before the Quarter Quell, I've seen a lot of sides of Peeta Mellark. Peeta the Noble – that one still makes me barf in my mouth a little, by the way – Peeta the Loyal, Peeta the Brave, Peeta the Selfless…I could go on all day. But I met a new Peeta yesterday that I don't think I like very much."

"Oh? And what 'Peeta' are you referring to?" I asked, more than a little snidely.

"Peeta the Asshole," Johanna said bluntly.

"Exactly what is that supposed to mean?" I snapped.

"You do realize that Baby Snow thinks that the only reason that the sun rises every morning is because you fart it out, right?" I'll give her this – Johanna has a way with words.

I laughed humorlessly. "You're taking _her_ side? I thought you could barely stand to be around her!"

"I can't," Johanna admitted. "And she knows it, and I don't think she's much offended by it. But _you_ , on the other hand – you barge into Coin's inner sanctum and announce your intention to kill Snow – right in front of his _granddaughter_ , for fuck's sake – and then you brush her off like so much moose shit on the bottom of your shoe!"

"And just how am I supposed to feel, Jo?" I practically shouted. "Katniss is blind! Blind because of that maniac in the Capitol!"

"And Baby Snow had nothing to do with that," Johanna pointed out calmly, "and you know it."

"He did it because of _her_ ," I replied angrily. "If Andromeda had stayed where she was supposed to be, none of this would have happened!"

"And _you_ , Handsome," Johanna shot back, "would have been the star at your very own nationally televised execution." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Most likely followed by mine, and Annie's, and the Careers." She looked me straight in the eye. "I'm not afraid of dying, but I want to die on my feet and go down swinging."

I said nothing. "I can pretty much guarantee that Baby Snow is blaming herself for Eight getting nuked," she continued, "not to mention blaming herself for your girlfriend lying in the hospital with her lights out. And you brushing her off like you did yesterday – take it from a real asshole. You don't do it well."

"I never thought you were an asshole," I mumbled.

"Bitch, then," Johanna said with a shrug. "Look, Peeta. Be angry. You have a right to be. But be angry _at the right person_. Just because she shares a name with the guy that nuked Eight doesn't give you the right to take your righteous anger at Coriolanus Snow out on Andromeda Snow."

"I never thought I would see the day that Johanna Mason would actually be defending Andromeda Snow," I said, shaking my head in a combination of wonder and disbelief.

"Look," Johanna replied and she stood up, "I don't like the kid, so don't go thinking that I got soft or something. But right is right, and she in no way deserved the brush-off that you gave her yesterday." She held one hand out to me. "Now, off your ass and on your feet, Soldier. We don't want to keep the Mockingjay waiting."

"What makes you think that they'll let me see her now when they wouldn't last night?" I asked as Johanna pulled me to my feet with a grunt.

"Oh, they will," she assured me. "After all, why would Boggs have me to bring you to the hospital?"

* * *

Johanna and I were making our way through the hospital when we were met by three people – Katniss's mother, along with her sister, Prim - and a short, solidly built man, his ash-blonde hair worn in a neat crewcut, wearing glasses reminiscent of Beetee Latier. One glance at their red-rimmed eyes told me that the Everdeen women had just come from visiting Katniss. As Johanna and I approached, Prim noticed us and beckoned us over.

"How…how is she?" I asked as I exchanged quick hugs with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. I couldn't help but notice that Johanna hung back as I exchanged greetings with the Everdeens.

"Frightened," Mrs. Everdeen replied softly. "I've never seen her like this, Peeta." She turned to the man with the blonde hair and glasses. "This is Katniss's doctor. Dr. Fenster, Peeta Mellark."

The man stepped forward and offered me his hand. "Nils Fenster, Mr. Mellark. I'm the staff ophthalmologist here in Thirteen." For the first time, I noticed that he appeared significantly younger than the other doctors on staff here.

"Hello," I said, marveling at the strength in his grip. _A doctor with a wrestler's build. Nothing like tall, skinny Dr. Picardo._ "How is she?" I asked bluntly.

"First things first," Fenster said with a smile, as he extended his hand to Johanna. "Nils Fenster."

"Johanna Mason," she replied dryly as she touched his hand briefly. "Now answer Peeta's question, if you don't mind."

Fenster blinked rapidly in surprise, but recovered nicely. "Of course, Miss Mason." Turning back to me, he said, "I'll be honest. We're in new territory here. Flash blindness of this magnitude is very rare. But I want you to know that I'm optimistic."

"She'll recover, then?" I asked eagerly.

"I don't know." Fenster removed his glasses and rubbed his own eyes quickly, before slipping his glasses back on. "Her optic nerve has been severely traumatized. I've never seen anything like it."

"Wait a minute," I said impatiently. "You just said that you were 'optimistic.'"

"Let me rephrase," Fenster replied. "In every other case of flash blindness that I've treated, the patient eventually recovered, if there wasn't any physical damage to the eye itself. In these cases, recovery was quick. And Katniss has no physical damage to her eyes. That's why I'm optimistic. However, she hasn't shown any signs yet of recovering even a fraction of her sight. That's why I said I don't know."

"Her eyes are bandaged, Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen explained when Fenster paused. "And Dr. Fenster has applied pads over each eye that contain a topical analgesic – a pain killer – to make her as comfortable as possible."

"Why don't you pay her a visit?" Fenster suggested. "She was asking about you while I was changing her dressings earlier."

"I want to see her," I said, and then added, "I was told earlier that I couldn't."

"That was when she was first admitted," Prim said. "They wanted to get her settled first." Prim stepped forward and touched my arm gently. "Go on in, Peeta. It will do her good to know that you're there."

"Room Twenty-Seven," Fenster said as he pointed down the corridor. "Last room on the left, right before the stairwell."

I glanced over at Johanna. "Are you coming?"

She shook her head, once. "Later. She wants you, not me. Now go on."

I nodded, murmured my thanks to Fenster and my goodbyes to Mrs. Everdeen, Prim, and Johanna, and limped down the corridor towards Katniss's room. _I wonder who is more afraid right now,_ I asked myself. _Me…or Katniss?_

* * *

The room was dark, lit only by the emergency lighting near the floor. A single bed occupied the center of the room, and I could just make out Katniss's small form, her head swathed in white bandages. Katniss had turned her head towards the sound of the door sliding open and it was disconcerting, to say the least, to have her "look" at me with her eyes covered so well.

Katniss spoke first. "You can turn on a light, Peeta," she said softly. "The last thing we need is for you to fall and end up in here with me. Especially now that you're out of that chair."

"They want me walking as part of my therapy," I explained as I located a light switch on the wall to my left, and pressed it, bathing the room in soft, yellow light.

"How did you know it was me?" I asked softly as I slowly limped to her bedside.

The corners of Katniss's mouth twitched up in the semblance of a smile. "I could hear your walk, and your cane tapping the floor." Again, I had the feeling that she was "looking" at me. "And I could smell cinnamon."

I eased myself into a bedside chair near her head. "Cinnamon?" I asked. "How? I haven't baked anything since…since Twelve."

Katniss shrugged. "Maybe you were around it so much that the smell has become part of you," she replied. "It's a smell that I love," she added softly.

Katniss reached out with one hand and I grasped it in both of mine immediately. "I'm so glad you're back," I whispered as I gently kissed her fingers.

"They said that Snow nuked Eight," Katniss said as her fingers tightened on mine. "And I was looking right at it when…" her voice trailed off to a near-whisper.

"You're going to be okay," I said softly. "I talked with your doctor. He's optimistic that you'll recover."

"What if I don't?" Katniss choked out. "Peeta, I'm a _hunter_. I can't hunt if I can't see!"

Katniss sniffled loudly and I realized with a shock that she was crying. I had seen her cry before, of course – tears of anger, tears of frustration, tears of grief, even infrequent tears of happiness – but I knew that these tears were different. For the first time that I could remember, Katniss was crying for herself.

Mrs. Everdeen was right. Katniss was frightened. And I felt helpless to do anything about it.

"Katniss –" I began.

"Peeta, wait," Katniss said, a hint of steel creeping back into her voice. "I want…I want you to listen to what I have to say." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "If I don't…get better, I want you to know that I can't…I won't…expect you to –"

"Stop," I said firmly. "Just stop! How could you even _think_ such a thing? You've never given up on me. You risked your life and flew into Capitol territory to rescue me! Like it or not, you're stuck with me."

"But –"

"No 'buts,'" I whispered, before I leaned over and tenderly kissed her lips.

Katniss sighed softly as she kissed me back. But, when our lips parted, she whispered, "I'm scared."

"I know," I replied quietly. "I know, and I also know that everything will be okay."

"I wish I could believe that," Katniss said. Her hand groped for my face, and she carefully traced the line of my jaw with her fingertips before slipping her hand around to the back of my head. "Can you stay with me?"

In response, I eased out of my chair and awkwardly climbed onto the narrow bed. "What are you doing?" Katniss asked as the bed sagged slightly under our combined weight.

"Just what you asked," I said as I carefully arranged myself on the bed.

"Peeta, I didn't mean –"

"Hush," I said gently as I pressed my fingers to her lips.

No sooner did I feel Katniss begin to relax than I heard a knock on the door, followed by the sound of the door sliding open. I didn't even bother turning to see who it was. After a moment, the visitor spoke.

"I'll come back later," Johanna Mason's voice said softly.

"I'll be here if you need me for anything," I replied without looking up.

"Take your time," Johanna said as the door slid shut behind her.

Katniss never stirred.

 **PART VI**

My respite with Katniss was short-lived. A hospital technician came in after an hour or so and informed me that I was wanted in Command.

It was apparent when I arrived that everyone had been waiting on me. Coin looked up at me in irritation when I entered the Command Conference Room. "Why were you still in the hospital?" she snapped. "Your schedule –"

 _Fuck my schedule,_ I said to myself. What I said aloud was, "I was with Katniss. She was upset and I didn't want to leave her."

"Please take your seat," Coin ordered. She seemed to accept, if not approve of, my explanation.

I slid into a chair between Beetee and a new addition – Casca Bishop. Surprised, I leaned towards him and said, very quietly, "You're a part of the inner circle now?"

"Amazing what deals you can make when you have something they need," he whispered in return, referring to his recent "what makes Coriolanus Snow tick?" conferences with Coin and Andromeda Snow.

"May we begin now, gentlemen?" Coin asked archly. Not waiting for a response, she continued, "Snow's attack on District Eight had us at a distinct disadvantage. No one expected him to use weapons of mass destruction. However, our intelligence has brought forth a theory as to why Eight was targeted. Lieutenant?"

The intelligence lieutenant that had originally briefed us on the attack rose to her feet. "We feel that Eight was targeted specifically because it was of no further use to the Capitol. President Snow won't use nukes against us here in Thirteen because of his granddaughter's presence here. Districts One and Two are sympathetic to the Capitol, and the rest all have industries that the Capitol deems necessary."

"I guess they don't feel that clothing is necessary?" Silenus Festuca asked sarcastically.

"Textile manufacturing could, theoretically, be absorbed by other districts," the lieutenant explained patiently. "District Eight was targeted as an example, and in hopes that we would expend assets and rush to their aid, and, thus, extend the war indefinitely – or possibly even lose it entirely."

"Which we did not do," Coin added firmly, "with, I might add, the concurrence of the other district leaders that are in this fight with us."

I sat, stunned by this news. _No one_ was helping the thousands of wounded in District Eight? I glanced over at Boggs, who looked uncomfortable and wouldn't look me in the eye. "You're just going to let all those people _die_?" I asked incredulously.

"There's nothing that we could have done for them," Coin stated matter-of-factly. "Radiation sickness kills quickly. We would have been overwhelmed. And that, Soldier Mellark, is the last that we will discuss of this. Am I clear?"

I noticed Boggs shake his head slightly and took my cue from him. "Very clear, ma'am," I replied flatly.

"Good." Turning to the rest of the group, she said, "Now, we can't retaliate in kind. Snow knows this. But we have a means to retaliate." She looked at me and smiled tightly. "Soldier Mellark, I think that you, of all people, will appreciate this."

I frowned. What the hell was she talking about? "President Snow is fond of nationally televised executions. I think it's only fair that we take a page from his book and give him a taste of his own medicine."

I could feel a tightness in my chest as she spoke. A televised execution? There was only one person that she could possibly execute, and that was –

"Tomorrow at noon," Coin continued, "we shall execute one of the Capitol's elite." She pressed a button on the table in front of her and an image glowed to life on the main display screen. I recognized the face immediately, and I knew that I had to do everything in my power to stop this obscenity from taking place.

The face on the screen was that of Sperantia Blackstone – the "hope" that I was to protect.

And she had just been marked for death by President Alma Coin.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

 **PART I**

I stared down at the contents of my teacup, unable to ignore the knot in my stomach. My dinner plate, untouched, had been shoved off to one side. As I gazed at the rapidly cooling tea (a special treat served tonight – tap water was usually the norm), I was gripped by one unmistakable fact.

In less than eighteen hours, Sperantia Blackstone would be executed on the orders of President Alma Coin.

Speri Blackstone had made no secret of the fact that she despised everyone connected with the Rebellion. She was a rich, pampered, spoiled, fourteen-year-old Capitolite, whose father was Panem's Minister of Security. And tomorrow, at noon, with Beetee Latier hacking into the Capitol's communications network, she would be brought to the same soundstage where Plutarch Heavensbee edited his propaganda broadcasts, forced to kneel, and be shot in the back of the head on live Holo-TV, in retaliation for the bombing of District Eight.

And I haven't done a damn thing to try to stop it.

I'm just one person. At least that's what I kept telling myself, ever since Coin so gleefully announced Speri's execution. Retaliation, Coin had called it. Retaliation for the nuclear attack on District Eight – an attack that killed thousands outright, with thousands more sure to die in the coming weeks. One life compared to thousands. One life, that had absolutely nothing to do with the attack. And it was so wrong.

Coin, and the leaders of the other Rebel districts, was frightened. Coriolanus Snow had elevated this war into something unthinkable. Other districts were faltering, suddenly concerned that they could be next to feel Snow's nuclear wrath. Even those whose resolve hadn't wavered were feeling the effects of their unpopular decision to not render aid to the District Eight survivors, while at the same time realizing that aid, on such a massive scale, was beyond the capabilities of the Rebellion. The momentum had shifted back to favor the Capitol and their Loyalist allies – and Snow knew it.

I wasn't a politician, or even a real soldier. I was a baker's son from District Twelve. And I could see that absolutely nothing good would be accomplished by executing Sperantia Blackstone.

"Peeta!" I glanced up at the sound of my name, only to see Plutarch Heavensbee and his ever-present shadow, Fulvia Cardew, approaching my table. _Shit,_ I said to myself. _Plutarch is about the last person I want to see right now._

"I'm glad I caught you here," Plutarch said cheerfully, as he and Fulvia slid onto the bench across from me. "I need to discuss a few details with you regarding some upcoming propos –"

"Not now, Plutarch," I muttered. "I'm not really in the mood."

"Uhhh…well," Plutarch stammered. "Fine, then. You just listen to some ideas that Fulvia and I have come up with."

I sighed heavily. I could get up and leave, but Plutarch would probably just follow me. "Here's one I think you'll like – we video the moment when that eye doctor…"

"Fenster," Fulvia supplied when Plutarch's voice trailed off.

"Right! Dr. Fenster," Plutarch continued. "We capture the moment when he removes Katniss's bandages and all of Panem will be able to witness her seeing for the first time since – her unfortunate accident."

"There was nothing 'accidental' about Snow nuking Eight," I pointed out flatly. My blunt statement seemed to catch both Plutarch and Fulvia off-guard. "So, tell me," I continued, "what will you do if Fenster removes Katniss's bandages – and we find out that she's still blind?"

Plutarch looked stunned at my question. "Fulvia," he said, "I thought you spoke with that eye doctor – Fenster, was it?"

"Dr. Fenster," Fulvia confirmed. "And he's optimistic about Katniss Everdeen regaining her eyesight."

"Yeah, he told me that also," I muttered. "And he also told me that he's never seen such a severe case of flash blindness."

"We have to think positive," Plutarch said, trying to regain his earlier optimistic momentum. "However, you may have a point, Peeta…about not filming Katniss having her bandages removed, that is. In retrospect, I'm sure her mother and sister would prefer a modicum of privacy during such a sensitive moment."

 _And I'm sure that you just realized that there's a very real risk that Fenster will take off her bandages, only to discover that Katniss is still blind,_ I said to myself savagely. _And how would_ that _look on your precious propo?_ "I'm sure Mrs. Everdeen, and Prim as well, would appreciate your willingness to give up such a moment," I said dryly.

"Quite so," Plutarch replied with forced joviality. "Anyway, the other item that I wished to discuss with you is setting a date to begin doing your interview shows."

 _Shit._ Plutarch's idea for me to interview the other Victors, as well as some of the more pliable Capitol expatriates, had completed slipped my mind. "I really don't want to talk about that right now," I muttered.

Plutarch leaned forward. "Peeta," he said urgently, "I know that recent…events…have you somewhat upset. But you must understand, we need to keep up the information wars pressure. Remind people what they're fighting for!"

"In that case," I all but snarled, "then you better make sure not to clean up Sperantia Blackstone's blood off the soundstage floor after Coin murders her tomorrow. Now _that_ will send a _real_ message!"

Plutarch glanced around anxiously as other diners – mostly District Thirteen soldiers – raised their heads from their meals to listen to our exchange. "Keep your voice down!" he hissed.

Angrily, I swept my arm across the table, sending my tray and cup clattering to the floor. I grabbed up my cane and awkwardly rose to my feet. "Count me out," I snapped, and then deliberately turned my back on Plutarch and Fulvia.

Without a backward glance, I stomped out of the mess hall, feeling every eye on me as I made my way to the door. Plutarch called after me, once, but I never slowed down. Once in the corridor, I headed straight for my quarters. I had originally planned on visiting Katniss after dinner, but I knew that I couldn't see her in my present agitated state.

Once I was alone in my quarters, I flopped back on the narrow bed and stared up at the ceiling. I couldn't remember ever feeling so alone as I did right at that moment.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I laid there before a soft knock at my door intruded upon my thoughts.

"Go away," I called out wearily.

I heard the door slide open. "Sorry, can't do that," I heard a familiar voice say.

I turned my head and watched as Boggs and Jackson entered my quarters. "What do you want?"

"Meeting in Command," Boggs explained succinctly.

I glanced at them both, warily. "Then why didn't you just call?"

Jackson looked unhappy. "We're here to escort you," Boggs replied, after a moment.

I sighed, swung my legs off the bed, and stood up. "I know where Command is," I said as I grabbed my cane. "I don't need an escort."

In response, Boggs gestured towards the door. "After you."

I shook my head as I limped past them. Once in the corridor, Boggs and Jackson flanked me, one on each side, as we walked to the nearest elevator. We said nothing as we walked, but the tension was so thick that I could feel it pressing down on me.

Only after Boggs slid the elevator cage shut, and it jerked into motion, did I finally speak. "I take it that Coin is not happy with me?"

" _President_ Coin objects to your use of the word 'murder' in describing the Blackstone girl's pending execution," Boggs replied slowly.

"Boggs, what she's planning is not right," I pointed out firmly. "And you know it."

"If you're concerned about due process," Boggs said, "a tribunal has been scheduled for Blackstone tomorrow morning."

"Where she will be found guilty of…something," I said disgustedly, "and sentenced to death."

Boggs said nothing. When I glanced at him, I could see his jaw muscles moving as he clenched his teeth angrily. The only question was who his anger was directed towards – me, or Coin? I was pretty sure I knew where Jackson stood – she hadn't said a word, but her body language was not that of a willing participant.

The elevator shuddered to a stop. Jackson reached out to open the cage, but Boggs held up one hand, stopping her. Turning to me, he said softly, "There's nothing that _I_ can do. _I_ can't stop this. Do _you_ understand?"

His meaning was clear. Boggs was being the good soldier. But even good soldiers, that obey orders, knew the difference between right and wrong. I glanced at Jackson, who nodded her head, once. I nodded back.

"I understand," I replied simply.

Boggs nodded at Jackson, who slid the cage door open. "Come on, Soldier," he said. "Let's not keep the president waiting."

 **PART II**

"Ahh," President Alma Coin said with a satisfied smile as I entered the conference room with my escorts. "Please be seated, Soldier Mellark. We can begin now."

I slid into a chair next to Beetee Latier and glanced around the table. Plutarch was there, of course, along with his assistant, Fulvia Cardew. Major Zander was also present. Henry Elliott, Coin's aide, sat at her side. And, of course, Boggs, Jackson, Beetee, and myself. But what was more noticeable was not who was there – it was who _wasn't_ there.

No Haymitch. No Effie. No Silenus Festuca or Darius Potter. No Katniss, of course. No Finnick Odair. No one, in other words, that was apt to voice any opposition to Coin – or, for that matter, even present an argument from a differing point of view.

No one – except me.

Boggs caught my eye and nodded once, almost imperceptibly. His meaning to me was clear. Just as clear to me was the reason for Major Zander's presence in this meeting. If Boggs stepped out of line – I had a sneaking suspicion may had already occurred, although most likely in private with Coin – Major Zander was there to step in if Coin found it necessary to relieve Boggs of his position as Chief of Security for District Thirteen.

I glanced quickly at Beetee, but he appeared impassive, in fact almost bored. What would he do if I stuck my neck out? It all hinged on not only what I was about to say, but how I said it. Beetee would back me – _if_ I could state my case logically. The only problem was, I really didn't know exactly what to say, other than the execution of Sperantia Blackstone was wrong. And I couldn't very well invoke visits from the spirits of Gale Hawthorne and Gamma Churchill.

I had to think of something, and quickly. President Coin was about to speak.

* * *

"I will keep this short," Coin announced. "Sperantia Blackstone's tribunal will be conducted at zero eight hundred hours tomorrow morning. I expect it to last no more than three hours. Upon reaching the verdict of guilty, her execution will be carried out at noon and televised throughout Panem. I expect –"

"No."

Coin almost seemed to expect my interruption. "What was that, Soldier?" she asked. Her tone was low, pleasant, and almost mocking.

"I said –" I croaked nervously, as I rose to my feet. I cleared my throat and continued. "I said, 'no.' No tribunal. No execution."

"It's come to my attention that you voiced your opinions regarding my decision earlier this evening, during the evening meal," Coin said, her voice suddenly turning cold. "I am not accustomed to having my decisions questioned."

"I know this," I replied. _Careful,_ I said to myself. _If you don't do this just right, you'll end up on Level Thirty-Nine._ "President Coin," I continued, forcing a firmness that I didn't really feel into my voice, "executing an innocent girl in retaliation for this attack is wrong."

Coin sat there, a smile frozen on her face as I spoke. "Your opinion has been noted, Soldier. However, the tribunal – and execution – will proceed as planned. This subject is closed, and you may consider yourself fortunate that I'm willing to forgive your insubordination. Now –"

"Then you are no better than Coriolanus Snow," I stated forcefully.

The smile faded from Coin's face. "What did you say?" she hissed.

"Summary executions are a Snow tactic," I continued. "What message would Sperantia Blackstone's execution send to the rest of Panem? I'll tell you what kind of message that _I_ would get – that no matter how much things change, deep down inside, they're still the same."

Slowly, Coin rose to her feet. "How _dare_ you?" she snapped. Her face was totally drained of color and I could see that she was trembling with barely controlled rage. "You _dare_ compare me to…to…that _monster_?" Her hands suddenly clenched into fists. "He and his kind have brought nothing but misery and suffering to Panem! And I am leading the fight to stop it! I –"

"You know _nothing_ about misery and suffering!" I shouted back. I pulled my shirt over my head and spun around, exposing my scarred back. "Tell me, President Coin – how many floggings have _you_ had?" I turned back around and hiked up my trousers, baring my prosthetic leg. "Look at _this_!" I grabbed my cane and struck my leg with a metallic _thunk_. "Courtesy of the Third Quarter Quell." I allowed my trouser leg to drop back down and scooped my shirt up off the table. "You already know about what he did to me in the Capitol. But it's not just about me." I gestured towards Beetee. "Beetee is a fellow Victor. He knows what it's like to be afraid to go to sleep at night. And look – really _look_ – at the other refugees from Twelve, especially the kids. How stunted they are from years of never having enough to eat. And look them in the eye, if you can, and tell them how tough you've had it eating turnips, stale bread, and mystery meat three meals a day, when most of these kids would have given _anything_ to have what you have had your entire life."

My outburst caught everyone by surprise – me, most of all – but I could see that Coin was genuinely shocked. Whether my words registered, or if she was just amazed that someone yelled at her, I doubt if I will ever know. But, for now, I was the center of attention, and I needed to press my advantage while I could.

"I can't stop you from executing Sperantia Blackstone," I said, quieter now but still firmly. "But know this – her blood on that soundstage floor will signal the end of my cooperation with you." I turned my attention to Plutarch. "And with you also. No more propos. No interviews. And right now, I could give less than a fuck about what happens to me."

I suddenly felt drained, and plopped back into my chair, still clutching my shirt. As if my sitting down was a cue, Beetee cleared his throat, and, in his quiet manner, said, "I stand – figuratively, of course – with Peeta. Madam President, if you proceed with this ill-conceived execution, I will not lend my expertise and knowledge of the Capitol's communication systems to aid in its broadcast."

Coin stared at Beetee and I, her lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line. "It is within my authority to order the immediate arrest of you both," she finally said – but the fire had disappeared from her voice.

I glanced at Beetee, who inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, you do, Madam President."

"Perhaps," Plutarch said suddenly, his voice an octave higher than normal and tinged with panic, "there's another option, Madam President."

Coin sunk back into her chair and tightly squeezed the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger before replying. "Please don't make me guess, Mr. Heavensbee," she said wearily.

"Sperantia Blackstone's execution would most definitely send a message," Plutarch pointed out. "It would be a message that Capitol citizens would understand easily – but, at the same time, it would be a message that may be misconstrued throughout the rest of Panem. I propose an alternative."

Coin made a "get on with it" gesture with her hand. "Please enlighten us."

"Just this," Plutarch continued. "Instead of executing Sperantia – we convert her to the Rebel cause."

* * *

Nothing is ever easy.

I owe Beetee Latier more than I will ever be able to repay. His threat to cease using his knowledge to hack into the Capitol communications network probably scared Coin more than my threats of withholding my cooperation with the propos. Beetee knew where the "back doors" were – the flaws in the system that he, himself, had a hand in designing – and it would do Coin no good to perform an execution if the citizens of Panem would not be able to view it in all its blood-spattered glory.

And Plutarch – who would have ever expected Plutarch Heavensbee to come up with a solution so achingly brilliant? Ever since Sperantia Blackstone had unwillingly joined in my escape and rescue, the question had hung over her like a black cloud – what to do with her now? Andromeda Snow was easy – she was not only a willing accomplice to my escape, it was safe to say that it would not have happened without her (I had some serious damage control to do with her following the horrible way that I had treated her – but I'm getting ahead of myself), and there had never been any serious doubt that she would willingly lend herself to any propaganda efforts. But Sperantia?

There's a reason why Plutarch had risen so high in the Gamemaker hierarchy – he knew precisely what buttons to push and when to push them for maximum effect. His solution was this: let Sperantia Blackstone become aware of just how close she came to dying, and how Beetee and myself stuck out own necks out to prevent her execution. Stress to her that she had been given a second chance to cooperate by two people that had nothing to gain by helping her, and that she now had a chance to redeem herself. And the way that she would do that would be to be a part of the District Eight relief effort.

Coin had made a valid point regarding District Eight – there was really nothing that we could do to help the vast majority of the survivors there. But Plutarch pointed out that we didn't need to help everyone, just make it appear that we were _trying_ to help everyone. And what better way to do that than to have both Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone at the forefront of the token relief force?

But, like I said, nothing is ever easy. For I had publicly challenged President Alma Coin, and, more importantly, I had won – at least for now.

And Coin did not like to lose.

Once Plutarch had hastily outlined his idea, Coin had ordered Beetee and I to be escorted back to our quarters, with orders that we were to remain there except for meals, without visitors, until further notice. Coin's message to us was clear – we were both under house arrest – her way, no doubt, of reminding us who was still in command in District Thirteen. And so, Jackson escorted me, while Major Zander escorted Beetee. As we left the conference room in Command, she ordered Boggs, Plutarch, and Fulvia to remain behind. I knew why without being told. She needed a new plan for Sperantia, and she needed one quickly.

I was physically and emotionally drained once Jackson had deposited me back in my quarters, but quietly elated at the same time. I had managed to save Sperantia - at least for now.

As I lay on my narrow bunk and felt my eyes grow heavy, the last thought I remembered before falling into an exhausted sleep was to wonder what Katniss would think when she found out exactly what I had done.

 **PART III**

My in-house incarceration passed uneventfully, except for one notable visit…by none other than Haymitch, Cinna, and Silenus Festuca, also known as The Goat Man.

They arrived, ironically, at noon the day following my showdown with Coin. I had just finished up some exercises my physical therapist had given me to do and had been awaiting my escort to lunch when I heard their knock on the door. Expecting a taciturn District Thirteen soldier, I was visibly surprised when I slid the door open.

"Close your mouth, kid," Haymitch suggested with a smirk, "and invite us in."

Dumbfounded, I stepped aside and waved the three of them into my quarters. It didn't escape my notice that Festuca carefully locked the door once they had all entered. Cinna tossed down four field ration packs on my small table while Haymitch produced four water flasks.

"Have a seat," Haymitch instructed, as Cinna and Festuca dragged my bunk around to make a kind of bench, as there were only two chairs at my table. Haymitch took one of the chairs and gestured for me to take the other.

"You dine in today," Cinna said as he pushed a ration pack towards me. "What we have to discuss is to remain in this room – for now."

"Why the secrecy?" I asked as I sat.

"There's a leak somewhere in Command," Festuca explained. "We don't know exactly where. But this involves you and Katniss directly, and we can't risk either o' you becomin' Snow's target again."

I examined the ration pack before tearing it open. I noticed with interest that it wasn't the standard District Thirteen field ration, but rather one issued to Peacekeepers. "Where'd this come from?" I asked.

"Captured supply train," Haymitch replied impatiently. "Eat up, kid, and listen while we tell you what's goin' on." He turned to Cinna. "You start."

As I tore open my ration, Cinna began to speak. "First things first. Katniss's bandages come off this evening. Your presence has been requested by no less than three doctors – Fenster, Picardo, and Aurelius – with concurrence by both Colonel Boggs and Plutarch Heavensbee, who, by the way, assured me that there will be no cameras there to cover the event."

I felt a pang of anxiety. Suppose the bandages came off and she still couldn't see? I know Fenster was optimistic, but – "Am I to be escorted to the hospital? I do know my way there, you know."

"Can the smart-assery, Peeta," Haymitch said wearily. "You and Beetee both managed to push every 'piss-off' button that Coin owns last night. Consider yourself lucky that she's allowing you to be there tonight."

"Sorry," I muttered. Quickly changing the subject, I added, "What did you mean, 'a leak?'"

"Just that," Festuca said. "Boggs told me that both he and Heavensbee suspect a plant somewhere in Command that's been feedin' intel to Snow." He paused and looked at me intently. "That is strictly hush-hush. You ain't to say a word to anyone, and that includes Katniss Everdeen. Got it?"

"You can't suspect Katniss –"

"We don't," Festuca said. "But the fewer people that know, the better. Understood?"

I nodded solemnly. "Understood." The idea of a spy in Coin's Command team was unsettling, to say the least.

"Now for some positive news," Cinna said. "Coin has completely abandoned the idea of executing Sperantia Blackstone. She, along with Boggs and Plutarch, have put together a new plan to use her and Andromeda Snow in propos as part of the District Eight relief effort."

"They were up almost all night coordinatin' with other Rebel districts," Haymitch added. He chuckled softly. "I gotta hand it to ya, kid. Coin thought she'd have an easy road puttin' a bullet in that little girls' head without me and Goaty not bein' at the meetin' last night. Looks like you an' Beetee put a great tag team move on her. You are all people's been talkin' about."

"Just more proof that there's a leak," muttered Festuca.

"So, she's sending both Meda and Speri to Eight?" I asked.

"After a crash-course in field medicine," Cinna replied with a nod. "It won't make them full-fledged medics, but they'll be taught enough so at least it looks like they know what they're doing."

"And how does all this involve Katniss and I?" I asked.

"There's been a change of plan regardin' you 'n Katniss," Haymitch said slowly. "You'll both be goin' out to Eight with the medical teams and the Capitol girls."

"With both me and Boggs along to keep you two outta trouble," Festuca added.

"We're all going," Cinna said. "It's a secured area, and all of you will have the services of a Stylist – me – and my prep team to help you look your best."

All I could do was sit there, dumbfounded, as the three of them talked. There had been no mention of me doing interview-style propos here in District Thirteen. Coin had apparently decided to send both Katniss and I back out into the field, without even first confirming that Katniss had even regained her sight.

I didn't care that Cinna had referred to District Eight as "secured," or that Festuca was joining the security team. I had a sneaking suspicion that, by standing up for Sperantia Blackstone, I had ended up placing both Katniss and myself firmly in Coin's crosshairs.

I had a target on my back, and I did not like the feeling.

* * *

"That's about it, kid," Haymitch said as we finished our lunch. I had to admit that the Peacekeeper field rations were far superior to the ones that District Thirteen issued its soldiers. "Johanna will be by in a few to take you to the hospital. Everyone going on this junket will get some medical training before you deploy…not just the Capitol girls."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Cinna asked as he leaned back on my bunk, propping himself up on his elbows, an amused smile on his face. I found myself wondering grumpily what he could possibly find funny.

"Later," Haymitch all but snapped. "We got other things to worry about."

"Okay," Cinna sighed. "If you won't tell him, I will. Peeta, Haymitch is –"

"Shut it, Cinna!" Haymitch barked, as Festuca chuckled, his lined face creased with amusement.

"Haymitch, either you tell him, or I will," Cinna said firmly.

My curiosity was aroused now. "Tell me what?"

Haymitch was the only person I know that could sigh and grumble at the same time, and he did it right before he answered me. "I…I'm getting' married," he muttered. "To Effie," he added hastily.

I couldn't hide my surprise if I tried. "Close your mouth, Peeta," Cinna said with a laugh.

"How?" I finally managed to say. "When?"

Haymitch actually looked embarrassed. "Effie and I, we've been kickin' the idea around some for a while now. Plutarch was gonna press the issue of you 'n Katniss getting' married as a propaganda stunt. An' I know how much you hated the idea of turnin' your wedding into some kinda public display, so Effie had the idea of her 'n I gettin' married instead."

"Plutarch loves the idea," Cinna added. "A born and bred Capitol woman marrying a rough-hewn District Twelve man – Plutarch wants to show all of Panem that love can blossom between District and Capitol. And, of course, Effie gets to dress for the occasion."

"We're doin' a double wedding, with Finnick n' Annie," Haymitch explained. He paused for a moment. "Oh, hell, now that the cat's outta the bag, I guess I should ask."

"Ask what, Haymitch?" I was still trying to digest this news. Haymitch and Effie – married? To _each other_? I knew that they had grown closer since arriving in District Thirteen, but this was a real shocker.

"I…I mean, _we_ …were wonderin' if you'd bake up a wedding cake for the four of us," Haymitch managed to say.

"That depends," I replied, amused at Haymitch's discomfiture.

"On what?" Haymitch asked, his tone anxious.

"On whether Coin allows me access to the ingredients that I'll need," I explained with a grin.

Cinna draped his arm across my shoulders. "I don't think that will be a problem," he said.

Before I could reply, there was a knock at my door, followed immediately by the door sliding open, revealing Johanna Mason. "You ready, Handsome?" she asked.

"Hang on," I said. I turned to Haymitch and stuck my hand out. "Congratulations."

Haymitch slowly reached out and gripped my hand. "Thanks. Now get going." He gave me a knowing look. "You n' Katniss…I mean, I hope that you two –"

I nodded, once. "I know. And we will. Someday." I released his hand and turned to Johanna, grabbing up my cane. "Okay. Let's go."

* * *

Once we were all out of my quarters, I slid the door shut firmly and watched as Haymitch, Cinna, and Festuca headed off towards the elevators that would take them to the Command level, before Johanna and I made our way to the stairs that would take us to the Hospital level. It was a good thing that there were only a few flights to take – the elevators would have been easier, but my therapists wanted me to use stairs as much as possible for the exercise.

I was getting stronger, but the stairs were still a challenge. Johanna stuck by my side, watching me carefully as I negotiated each step. I could tell that she was curious about the meeting I had with Haymitch, Cinna, and Festuca, but she hadn't said anything – yet.

That silence only lasted until we reached the next level down. "You gonna tell me what all that was about?" she finally asked.

"Nope," I huffed as I began to descend to the next level.

"Fuck you," she muttered.

"Trust me, Jo," I said. "You really don't want to know."

"And here I thought we were friends," she pouted.

"Knock it off," I said with a chuckle. "You can't pout for shit."

"I bet I know what it was about," she said slyly.

"Jo, I said you don't –"

"It's about Haymitch marrying Effie Trinket, isn't it?"

I glanced at Johanna sharply. "You knew about that?"

She shrugged. "I thought everyone knew."

I paused on the next landing to catch my breath. _Damn stairs are kicking my ass, and they wanna send me to District Eight?_ "I didn't," I muttered.

"Well," Johanna said slowly, "you've had other things on your mind. Like telling Coin to fuck off."

"Yeah, well," I replied as I started down the stairs again, "let's not talk about that, okay?"

"Just one word of advice," she said as she walked close to me.

"What's that?"

Johanna dropped her voice conspiratorially. "Watch your ass."

 **PART IV**

Johanna and I arrived at the hospital a few minutes early. I tried to use the time to my advantage, to pop in and say hello to Katniss, only to be stopped at her door by none other than her mother.

"Hello, Mrs. Everdeen," I said, as she carefully slid the door shut behind her. The past few days had obviously been difficult for her. She looked like she had barely slept or eaten.

"Peeta," she replied, giving me a weary smile. "Hello." She nodded at Johanna. "Hello, Johanna. You've both come at a bad time, I'm afraid."

Alarmed, I blurted, "Why? What's wrong with Katniss? Is it –" I paused for a moment "- her eyes?"

"No, Peeta. She had a severe anxiety attack," Mrs. Everdeen explained. "She managed to work herself up pretty good. She's convinced herself that she will be permanently blind, and is terrified of having her bandages removed tonight. And when you didn't stop by yesterday –"

"Shit." I clenched my jaw angrily. _Damn Coin!_ "I…I couldn't. I was confined to my room."

"I know," Mrs. Everdeen said quietly. "I heard. That was very noble, sticking up for that Blackstone girl like you did."

At that moment, I wasn't feeling noble. I was feeling guilt for not being there for Katniss when she needed me. "I want to see Katniss," I said bluntly.

At that moment, the door to Katniss's room slid open and Dr. Fenster stepped out of the room. "You can't. At least, not right now. She's been sedated."

"It's best for now, Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen added softly. "She's quieted down. We want to keep her like that for a while."

"Come on, Handsome," Johanna urged. "You don't want to be late."

"Just make sure that you're back here by nineteen hundred," Fenster said. "That's when I remove her bandages." He slipped a quick grin at Johanna. "You too, Jo."

Johanna actually blushed slightly. "See you later, Nils."

I waited until after we said our goodbyes and Dr. Fenster, along with Mrs. Everdeen, were safely behind us, to ask. "Nils? When did _that_ happen?"

Johanna blushed again. "Shut up, Mellark," she grumbled darkly.

I shut up. I had come to learn not to mess with Jo when she addressed me by my last name. But I was determined to learn more about this strange relationship that she had developed with Dr. Nils Fenster.

* * *

The medical training was not really worth mentioning. For me, it was nothing more than a refresher on my first aid training that I had when I was in soldier's training. What _was_ worth mentioning, however, were my fellow trainees – and our instructor.

To my surprise, Primrose Everdeen was our instructor. I guess I shouldn't have been all that shocked – Dr. Picardo spoke very highly of her, as did Dr. Aurelius – but it still seemed strange to have Katniss's sister lecturing us about the three lifesaving steps, or the best ways to prevent shock. What wasn't strange, however, was Prim's confidence and her depth of medical knowledge. We all soon forgot that a fourteen-year-old District Twelve Healer was standing at the head of the class, demonstrating the most effective way to treat severe burns.

My fellow trainees were just as big a surprise. I knew that Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone would be there, of course. What I hadn't been aware of, however, was that _all_ the Victors that had been imprisoned in the Capitol were there as well. Johanna, Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria were all there, as well as Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta…who seemed like an entirely different person since her reunion with Finnick. The only Victors that weren't represented here were Haymitch Abernathy, Beetee Latier – and Katniss Everdeen.

I could tell that Johanna was secretly amused by my surprise that she, along with the others, were being trained. And it also made me wonder why there was so much secrecy around Katniss and I being deployed as part of the token District Eight relief effort. Johanna and I had arrived just before Prim began her lecture, so my questions would have to remain unanswered.

However, at our first break, I did get some answers to my questions. Finnick and Annie, after exchanging quick greetings with me, took Johanna aside for a hushed, yet animated, discussion, before I had a chance to ask her about her and Dr. Fenster. I thought about using the few minutes that we had to try to make amends with Andromeda, but, from her cold stare, I could see that it would take more than a simple "I'm sorry" with her. Sperantia, still under a guard's watchful eye, took her break by herself. I did catch her glance in my direction once or twice, but each time she quickly looked away. It was the Career Victors that handed me yet another surprise when _they_ actually initiated a conversation with _me_.

And it all started in the bathroom.

* * *

I was standing at the urinal, finishing my business, when I heard the bathroom door open, then close, behind me. A figure stepped to the urinal next to mine, and a sidelong glance told me that Gloss had joined me in answering nature's call.

He nodded once. "Mellark."

"Gloss," I replied. It was then I noticed that he was leaning slightly in my direction and staring down at my crotch.

I finished and zipped up quickly. "What the hell are you looking at?" I snapped.

Gloss chuckled. "Just wanted to see if your balls were actually as big as everyone says they are."

I knew he must have been referring to my confrontation with Coin. "I did what I had to do," I muttered, as I stepped to the sink to wash up.

A moment later, Gloss joined me. "Yeah, well," he said admiringly, "what you did took a hefty pair. Didn't think you Twelves had it in you."

Embarrassed by his praise, I didn't know what else to say, other than "Thanks."

Gloss pushed the bathroom door open ahead of me. "After you."

I muttered another thanks to him as we walked back to join the rest of our fellow trainees. As we approached, Cashmere called out, "Well?"

"Bigger than I thought!" Gloss replied with a grin.

"Shit." Embarrassed, I wanted nothing more than to return to class, but there was still a few minutes of break left. Besides, Gloss had his hand on my shoulder, guiding me towards Cashmere and Enobaria, and it would have taken too much effort on my part to pull away.

"So," Enobaria said to me, "what's the latest on your girlfriend?"

"Her bandages come off tonight," I replied carefully, wondering at her interest in Katniss's welfare.

"I hope she is okay," Enobaria said, her soft District Two accent actually sounding sincere. "She's a warrior. She deserves better."

"That goes for us all," Cashmere added, as Gloss nodded his agreement. "It wasn't just you that she stuck her neck out for, that night outside the Capitol."

They sounded sincere, but I still wasn't entirely convinced. Changing the subject, I asked, "So why are you going through this training?"

Gloss snorted. "Plutarch made us an offer too good to turn down. If we agreed to go out and allow ourselves to be videoed helping the medical teams treat the wounded, injured, and sick, then he would see that these things –" he extended his right leg, where a tracker was firmly clamped around the ankle "- were removed and that we could move around freely."

"I wanted to hold out for a full parole," Cashmere added, "like they gave to Snow's ex-bodyguard, Casca. The best Heavensbee could do was a compromise. We can move around without guards, but we still wear the trackers."

"Did they tell you where they were planning on sending you?" I asked cautiously.

Enobaria shook her head. "No. Just that we were to train and await assignment. Why do you ask?"

Inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief. If they hadn't told the Career Victors, then they probably didn't tell Andromeda or Sperantia either. _Unless they aren't sending the Careers to Eight_ , I said to myself.

"No reason," I replied carefully. "I just –"

"Excuse me."

I stopped talking when I heard the soft voice behind me. From the glares coming from Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria I knew that the voice didn't come from either Johanna or Andromeda. Slowly, I turned towards the source of the voice, but I already knew who had spoken.

Sperantia Blackstone stood a step or two away from the four of us, looking uncomfortable. "I'd like to talk to you for a minute," she said quietly.

"Go ahead, Mellark," Gloss said with an unpleasant sneer. "We'll see you inside."

The three Careers brushed past Sperantia and I on their way back into the classroom. Cashmere deliberately rubbed up against Sperantia's guard as she squeezed by him on her way into the small room. The soldier couldn't have been any older than me, and was visibly flustered by the close contact with Cashmere.

"Excuse me, Soldier," she purred to the blushing guard. She chuckled throatily at the man's obvious discomfort. Gloss and Enobaria just shook their heads, amused by Cashmere's behavior.

I waited until they had all entered the classroom before replying to Sperantia. "Okay," I said. "You wanted to talk. So, talk."

"Why did you do it?" she asked bluntly.

"Defy Coin, you mean?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes. I'm not your friend. I mean nothing to you. And I think that you, and everyone here, are traitors to Panem and to President Snow. So, why do it? Why risk yourself getting in trouble because of me?"

"Simple," I replied. "Because it was the right thing to do."

"I don't get it," Sperantia said, confused. "You do this, even though I hate everything that you stand for?"

"Would you rather I hadn't said anything?" I asked pointedly.

Sperantia shook her head and looked at the floor. "No," she said softly. She looked back up at me. "I guess I should thank you."

"If you do thank me, would you really mean it?" I asked. "It means nothing if you aren't sincere." I raised my voice slightly so that Andromeda, still hunkered down nearby with her back to the wall, could hear. "Like saying you're sorry for something you said or did, and not really meaning it. You know, people sometimes say or do things in the heat of the moment that they didn't really mean, and regret later. So, they have to be sincere if they apologize later."

Sperantia mulled my words over for a moment before replying. "Thank you."

I gave her a small grin. "You're welcome."

Just then, Prim stuck her head out of the classroom. "Okay, everyone. Let's get back to it."

Wordlessly, both Sperantia and Andromeda entered the classroom. I moved to follow them, but stopped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Johanna, along with Finnick and Annie, looking at me quizzically.

"Making new friends?" Johanna asked bluntly.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the first thing we need to do is to work on not being enemies."

"Winning their hearts and minds," Finnick added with a smile, "one Capitolite at a time."

 _If that's what it takes,_ I said to myself as I followed them back inside.

 **PART V**

I could feel Katniss's fingernails – or what was left of them, as she had nervously nibbled them down to nothing – dig into my palm as I sat next to her on her hospital bed. She was sitting on the side of the bed as Dr. Fenster snipped carefully at the bandages that swathed her head, as Mrs. Everdeen, Prim, and Johanna looked on nervously.

Fenster carefully laid the scissors down on a nearby tray. "I'm going to remove the outer bandages now, Katniss," he said gently, as he began to expertly unroll the gauze. I could feel Katniss trembling as I held her hand.

The bandages were removed quickly. All that remained was a medicated patch covering each eye, and held in place by strips of adhesive tape. Katniss winced as Fenster quickly removed all but one strip of tape from each patch. He examined his work critically and then turned to Mrs. Everdeen.

"Ma'am, could you please turn off all the lights except the emergency floor lamp?" he asked.

Mrs. Everdeen nodded, and soon the room was lit only by the softly glowing strips along the walls that were in place just above the floor. These lights were always illuminated in the event of a sudden power loss or other emergency, and gave off just enough light to be able to navigate through the room.

"Thank you," Fenster said quietly. He turned to Katniss. "Katniss, I'm going to remove the patches now. I want you to shield your eyes with one hand and keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them."

"Okay," she whispered as she shielded her eyes with her free hand.

Fenster reached under her hand and quickly removed the patches. "All right, Katniss. Lower your hand."

She did, and I could see, even in the dim light, how reddened and angry the skin around her eyes looked. Her grip tightened on my hand and she flinched slightly as Fenster's fingers probed delicately around each closed eye. He then extended one hand a short distance from Katniss's face, and splayed his fingers open.

"Keep your eyes shaded, Katniss, but go ahead and open them," he instructed, "and tell me what you see."

I watched, feeling my heart pound in my chest, as Katniss's eyes slowly opened. She frowned slightly and blinked rapidly, leaning forward as if she was examining something up close.

"What do you see, Katniss?" Fenster asked softly.

"Five, right?" Katniss choked out. She blinked again and her lips curled up in a grin. "There's five fingers?"

Fenster breathed a sigh of relief. "Exactly five," he said with a grin of his own.

"They work." The relief in Katniss's voice was obvious.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim swarmed over Katniss, crying with relief. I'm not ashamed to admit that I added my own tears of relief to theirs. Even Johanna gave her a quick hug. Dr. Fenster, of course, quickly reverted to his mask of medical professionalism.

He pulled a pair of dark glasses from his lab coat pocket. "Wear these for the next day or two whenever you're in normal light," he said firmly. "And for at least a week if you go topside." He stood up. "I'll check on you in the morning. Get some rest and no visitors, other than who's in this room right now, until tomorrow." He gave her a quick smile. "You'll remain in here until morning. If there's no problems, I see no reason why you can't be discharged tomorrow."

"We'll see that she's not bothered," Mrs. Everdeen promised.

Dr. Fenster didn't remain long after that, leaving soon with Johanna in tow. _Dammit, I really need to find out what's going on between them. He's just about the last guy I would think that Johanna would be attracted to!_ Katniss, too, noticed the connection, silently asking me what was going on. Of course, all I could do was shrug my shoulders in response.

I was surprised that Mrs. Everdeen and Prim didn't stay longer, but they both had early shifts to work in the morning. It was obvious to both Katniss and me that they were both exhausted – their normal duties were strenuous enough, without the worry of Katniss's injuries to deal with at the same time. I think Katniss was relieved when they both finally said goodnight.

Prim carefully shut the door as she and her mother left. I waited until I heard the latch click home before taking Katniss into my arms, holding her close to me and kissing her for the first time since before her ill-fated trip to District Eight. Katniss clung to me tightly and we remained like that for some time, just holding each other, until finally Katniss let go and stared into my face intently.

"What have I missed?" she finally asked.

"Nothing much," I murmured. "Just the usual."

Her lips twitched up in a smile. "So, you standing up to Coin is 'the usual?'"

"You knew about that?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes," Katniss replied gently. "And why you did it, too."

"It was the right thing to do," I said, somewhat defensively.

"I've never been more proud of you," Katniss whispered. "Why did you act like nothing's been happening while I've been in here?"

"Katniss," I said slowly, "until a couple of hours ago, you didn't know if you would ever see again." I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "You had other things to worry about."

She brushed her lips against mine. "You still need to catch me up." Her arms tightened around me and she rested her face against my chest. "Come tomorrow, I'll be outta here. And I don't want any surprises."

"Wait a minute," I said. "How did you know about me and Coin?"

She chuckled softly. "The staff here likes to gossip, and you would be surprised at how sensitive my hearing got when I couldn't see anything." I shivered slightly when she nuzzled my neck.

"Katniss," I said, somewhat breathlessly, "maybe you better –"

"I know," she said with a sigh. "We're in a hospital, and besides, there's your…problem."

"I don't think it's much of a problem," I admitted sheepishly. "But we _are_ in a hospital, like you said."

"Then maybe you better make sure that you don't have plans for tomorrow night," she whispered.

And, as I kissed her again, I decided that I most certainly had no plans for tomorrow night. As for bringing her up to date on everything, well, that could wait until tomorrow also.

Right now, I had more important things to do.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18**

 **PART I**

"We're going to be working in the hospital today," Prim announced. "Once we're in the field, each of you will be assigned to work under the direct supervision of a trained medic. So, you'll need – yes, Cashmere?"

"One question, _teacher_ ," Cashmere said snidely. "I understood that we'll be there performing for the cameras. So why waste time teaching us a bunch of medical shit that we don't really need to know?"

"Allow me to answer that, Primrose," a familiar, cultured voice said from the back of the room. I twisted around in my seat and allowed myself a quick grin at Cashmere's expense as Dr. Josephus Picardo continued to speak. "And this is for the benefit of you all – not just the esteemed Victor from District One. This relief effort will be treating badly injured people around the clock while we are in District Eight. That means that much of what is done will be performed when the cameras are not recording your heroic efforts for posterity. And if you don't learn, and practice, rudimentary medical skills, your presence will quickly cease to be an asset, and you will find yourselves becoming liabilities instead. And that, my dear Cashmere, would be most unfortunate." He fixed Cashmere with his steady gaze the entire time that he was talking. "In other words, you can't fake this. Does that answer your question?"

Cashmere actually looked embarrassed. She nodded and mumbled something that could have been her indicating that she understood. Cashmere had been one of the most popular Victors ever, and the closest thing that District One had to royalty, and it was obvious that she was not used to being lectured to like a schoolgirl caught passing a note. Beside me, I heard Johanna stifle a laugh, which earned her a glare from Gloss.

"I think I made my point," Picardo said smoothly. Turning to Prim, he said, "Please continue."

Prim cleared her throat. "Anyway, we'll be working in the hospital today. You will be working under the supervision of a trained medic. You will be given simple tasks – checking vital signs, monitoring urine output –"

At that, Enobaria leaned forward and said to Gloss teasingly, "Oh, piss boy!"

"- and assisting with changing dressings, if needed. Any questions?" There were none. "The patients that you will be treating today have all been wounded in combat. Some of their wounds are severe. If you feel yourself getting sick, and you need to leave, we understand."

"We're all Victors," Enobaria pointed out with a sneer. "We've all seen worse."

"And we've all had nightmares because of it," Finnick pointed out. "Even you, Eno. I've heard your screams in the middle of the night more than once."

"Just remember," Picardo added quickly, sensing another war of words threatening to erupt between the Career and non-Career Victor camps, "in the arena, you practiced the best ways to take people apart. Here, you will be learning how to put them back together. Remember that."

"All right," Prim said, as she opened the classroom door, "let's go."

* * *

We were going to be working in Post-Op Ward Alpha – a large, open room with perhaps twenty beds, all of them occupied. We all paired up with trained doctors, nurses, or medics. I wasn't surprised when Prim told me that I would be working with her. It also came as no surprise that Nils Fenster was included in today's training, and partnered with Johanna. Nils and Johanna were perhaps the second-oddest couple in District Thirteen, after Haymitch and Effie. Picardo, to my surprise, paired with Cashmere, leaving Gloss with an unsmiling female medic as tall and broad-shouldered as he was. Mrs. Everdeen took Andromeda Snow, Finnick – who insisted on remaining with Annie during training – got an obviously star-struck nurse – proof that his charisma penetrated even the depths of District Thirteen.

That left Enobaria and Sperantia Blackstone. Eno ended up paired with Dr. Aurelius. He later explained that, even though he was a psychiatrist by training, he also performed general surgery. I'm sure his pairing with Eno was no accident. District Two Victors were widely considered the most brutal of the Career Victors, and Enobaria, with her sharpened teeth, was a head doctor's dream patient. As for Sperantia, she ended up being paired with a medic that I instantly recognized, and, from his look of surprise when he saw me, recognized me as well.

It was the medic on the hovercraft that plucked me, and the other Victor prisoners, out of the Capitol. And this medic was the one that suggested that Sperantia be bled dry to save Rory Hawthorne's life.

"Prim," I asked softly, "would you mind very much working with Sperantia instead of me?"

"I suppose not," she replied reluctantly. "But I don't think she likes me very much," she added quietly.

"Thanks," I whispered. "I'll explain later."

Prim simply nodded. I beckoned Sperantia and her trainer over to me. "Change of plans," I explained. "Sperantia, you're with Prim." I looked the medic square in the eye. "I'm with you. Any objections?"

"No," the man muttered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Good," I said with a tight smile. Turning to Sperantia, I said, "You go on, now. Pay attention to Prim. You'll learn a lot from her."

It was obvious that she was confused by the switch, but she didn't argue. Wordlessly, she joined Prim. "All right," I said, "I think we're set. Let's get started."

 _Maybe you'll even thank me later,_ I said to myself as I watched Prim and Sperantia move to their first patient. _Then again, maybe not. I would rather not tell her that the man that she had been originally paired with discussed the possibility of killing her so that another may survive, and did so with no more hesitation that I would display at killing a mouse, or a rat._

* * *

My first patient was unconscious, so the only conversation was between my trainer and me. It consisted entirely of him directing me to perform tasks like taking blood pressure readings and emptying the urine bag that was slung under the bed. I finished quickly, and that gave me time to watch Andromeda Snow help treat her very first patient.

Mrs. Everdeen was a patient teacher. It was obvious that Andromeda was uncomfortable being in a room full of men and women that had been wounded fighting a war against her grandfather. It didn't help that literally everyone knew who she was, and who she was related to. I was glad that I was working one bed over from her, as I was close enough to come to her aid if she encountered a particularly nasty patient.

Fortunately, that didn't happen.

I discovered much later that the hospital staff – Dr. Josephus Picardo in particular – had admonished the patients to curb their hostility. They pointed out that Andromeda had willingly defected, and had been instrumental in the rescue of myself and the other Victor prisoners. The warnings seemed to work. There may have been a few glares cast her way, but that was as bad as it got.

"All right," I heard Mrs. Everdeen say as I finished up with my patient, "just like you practiced. Take the patient's temperature, blood pressure, pulse, and measure his blood oxygen levels. Ask him if he is in any pain, and, if so, how severe his pain is on a scale of one to ten. Ask him if he needs anything. Keep talking to him and, above all, reassure him. Patients tend to heal faster if they think that they're doing well."

Andromeda nodded and took a deep breath. "Hello," she said to the figure in the bed. "My name is Andromeda. I'll be taking your vital signs."

The young soldier in the bed stirred slightly and turned his head towards her voice. "What kind of name is 'Andromeda?'" he asked as the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a small grin.

"I was named after a constellation," Andromeda replied, reddening slightly at his mocking tone.

"A constellation?" He chuckled as Andromeda wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm.

"Yes," she replied tartly as the blood pressure cuff began to inflate. "A constellation. It's a grouping of stars."

"I know what a constellation is, Capitol Girl," the young soldier said teasingly. Andromeda reddened even more. "You _are_ a rich Capitol girl, right?"

"I'm from the Capitol, yes," she admitted as she popped a thermometer in his mouth and placed two fingers on his wrist to take his pulse.

"I know," the young soldier said, once Andromeda removed the thermometer from his mouth. As she recorded his temperature, pulse, and blood pressure, he continued, "Your last name is Snow, isn't it?"

"Yes," she whispered as she dropped her eyes to the floor.

"July," Mrs. Everdeen admonished gently, "that's enough."

"I'm being good, Mrs. E," he protested. "Just asking her what her name is, is all."

Andromeda glanced at his chart. BARROW, J. was written boldly across the top. "Is that your name?" she asked. "Your first name is 'July?'"

"What of it?" July asked, somewhat defensively.

"What kind of name is 'July?'" Andromeda asked, her tone slightly mocking.

"I was born in July," he replied, somewhat defensively. "I –"

July paused when he realized what Andromeda had done. "Okay," he said with a grin. "We're even, Capitol Girl."

"I'm supposed to ask you if you are in any pain," Andromeda continued, remembering why she was here in the first place. "And if you are, how severe it is, on a scale –"

"Do you have a boyfriend, Capitol Girl?" July asked suddenly.

"What?" Andromeda was obviously surprised by the question. "That's none of your business…Soldier Barrow." She reddened again. "And I have a name," she added lamely.

"So do I," July pointed out. "And it ain't 'Soldier.'"

"Andromeda," Mrs. Everdeen said softly, "we have other patients to see."

"Yes, ma'am," Andromeda nodded. Turning back to July, she asked, "Are you in pain?"

"That depends," July replied, "on how you answer two questions."

Andromeda sighed impatiently. "What questions?"

July fixed his gaze on hers. "Do you have a boyfriend, and will you come see me again?"

Andromeda hesitated until she could break the lock that July's eyes had on hers. "No," she admitted softly. "And yes," she added.

July smiled. "Now was that so hard?"

"Now answer my question," Andromeda insisted. "Are you in any pain?"

"Not anymore," July replied happily.

"All right," Mrs. Everdeen said firmly, shaking her head in exasperation at July. "I think we're done here. Andromeda –"

"Mrs. Everdeen," Andromeda pointed out, "you told me to ask if the patient needed anything." Turning to July, she said, "Do you need anything?"

"Yes," July nodded. "I need you to come see me again soon…Andromeda."

"I will…July," Andromeda promised.

As Andromeda packed up the blood pressure cuff, thermometer, and other items, Mrs. Everdeen bent over July's bed and spoke to him so softly that I couldn't hear what she was saying. Of course, it didn't help that the medic I was working with was impatient to get on to the next wounded soldier. I had a feeling that I made him uncomfortable, and, what's more, I didn't really care.

As Andromeda passed me I tried to catch her eye and give her a smile, but she walked by me like I wasn't even there. July noticed the cold shoulder that Andromeda gave me and beckoned me over.

"Brrr," he said, making a shivering gesture. "What'd you do to piss her off?"

I smiled ruefully. "Oh, just told her that I want to kill her grandfather. You know…the kind of shit that girls don't seem to appreciate."

July whistled softly. "Maybe I shouldn't be seen talking to you, then."

"Maybe not," I agreed jokingly. "I'm surprised, July. I thought you pretty much hated everyone and everything associated with the Capitol. Yet, you seem to like her."

"Well," July said in a guarded tone, "That Capitol doc, Picardo, ain't so bad. And Andromeda _did_ willingly defect. That took a lot of guts, especially with a last name of Snow," he added, admiration in his voice. "Now, that other girl…she's another story. But yeah, I do like Andromeda."

"Say, what did Mrs. Everdeen say to you right before they left?" I asked.

July chuckled. "She said that if I'm well enough to flirt with pretty girls, then I'm well enough to be discharged." He shrugged. "Not soon enough for me, Peeta. Besides, I can't get to know Andromeda if I'm laid up here."

"Good point," I nodded. "I'll talk to you later, July. My trainer is anxious to move on."

"See you, Peeta." I glanced back at July one last time before I moved on to my next patient. He was staring up at the ceiling with a funny little smile. _Talk about worlds colliding,_ I said to myself with a grin. _President Snow's granddaughter and a District Twelve Community Home kid. I just hope that their backgrounds don't become a problem – for either one of them._

 **PART II**

 _Primrose Everdeen led her trainee to the next bed._ So far, she's done well, _Prim said to herself._ I just wish I could break through her shell. _"Next patient," Prim announced as she handed a chart to her trainee. "Soldier Rory Hawthorne."_

 _Rory had been dozing, and his eyes fluttered open at the sound of his name. He smiled up at Prim. "Hey, Prim."_

 _Prim grinned at Rory, brushing her hand lightly over his forehead as she pushed a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. "Hey, yourself," she replied. "We're doing rounds. This is Sperantia Blackstone. I'm training her."_

" _Oh, yeah," Rory said, turning to look at Sperantia as she wordlessly began to work. "The girl that gave me blood."_

 _Sperantia had been inflating the blood pressure cuff around Rory's arm. "What?" she asked, as she stared at Rory in surprise._

 _Rory glanced over at Prim. "She doesn't know?"_

" _Know what?" Sperantia demanded. "What do you mean, 'the girl that gave me blood?'"_

" _No one told you?" Prim replied in surprise._

 _Sperantia dropped the instruments that she had been holding and stood up. "No one said anything to me," she said through clenched teeth. As her voice began to rise, she continued, "Are you trying to say that I gave_ him _blood?"_

" _Well, you didn't exactly_ give _him blood," Prim said, trying to keep her voice low and soothing. "You were sedated at the time, and Rory had lost too much blood. So, the medics on the hovercraft did a direct transfusion from you to him." Prim looked at Sperantia apologetically. "I'm sorry," she continued softly. "I thought you knew."_

" _Well, I didn't!" Sperantia said angrily. Prim tensed when she saw Sperantia's hands clench into fists. But Sperantia didn't hit her. Instead, she sank to her knees by the bed and began to cry._

" _I can't, I can't," she sobbed softly. "You people steal my blood, you want to kill me, and I can't…can't do this anymore!" Sperantia looked up at Prim, her face streaked with tears. "I've tried to be strong, but I can't. I…I just want to go home…"_

" _Is there a problem here?" Prim turned and saw a stern-faced medic, his arms crossed in front of his chest, glaring down at Sperantia._

" _No," Prim said quickly, as she stepped between the medic and Sperantia. "There's no problem."_

" _Hmmpf," he grunted. "If the sick and injured bother you, Loyalist," he said to Sperantia, "then maybe this won't work out after all."_

" _She's fine," Prim insisted. "Just a little overwhelmed, that's all."_

 _The medic looked unconvinced. "If you say so, Miss Everdeen," he grumbled. "But if she gives you any trouble, just say the word, and she'll be back in lock-up in no time."_

" _She's fine," Prim repeated firmly. "She just needs a minute. Okay?"_

 _The medic nodded once, curtly, before turning and striding away. As he walked away, Prim turned and looked down at Sperantia. "Do you want some water or something?" she asked softly._

 _Sperantia awkwardly wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Why did you do that?" she asked. "You didn't have to do that. You could have been rid of me right then."_

" _Maybe," Prim said as she squatted down next to Sperantia, "maybe I don't want to be rid of you."_

" _That makes no sense," Sperantia said with a shake of her head. "I'm doing this because I'm being forced to. Even Meda is here because she wants to be. I've given you no reason to want to help me."_

" _Look," Prim said. "I know you don't want to be here. If I was in the Capitol like you are here, I wouldn't want to be there either. But you're here, and not there…and I don't need a reason to want to help someone."_

" _Just because?" Sperantia asked doubtfully._

" _Just because," Prim replied with a smile._

" _And you don't hate me?" Sperantia asked._

 _Rory spoke for the first time since his revelation about receiving Sperantia's blood. "We can hate what the Capitol stands for and we can even hate people like President Snow, and Peacekeepers. That doesn't mean we hate everybody. I've met some good Capitol people, like Dr. Picardo, and Effie Trinket, and Cinna. And, by the way, thank you for your blood."_

 _Prim looked at Rory admirably._ He's a lot different from the angry boy carving notches on his gun for each Peacekeeper that he killed, _she thought. "Rory's right, Sperantia. Besides, what will happen to us after the war if we keep hating?"_

 _Sperantia shook her head. "You district people are so strange," she whispered._

 _Prim put her hand on Sperantia's shoulder. "Listen. I think we're done for today. I have an idea. My sister is out of the hospital, and we've been given special permission to have dinner in our quarters tonight instead of going to our assigned mess hall. If you want, I'll fix it so you can eat with us."_

 _Sperantia looked at Prim in amazement. "You want me to come to_ dinner _?"_

 _Prim nodded. "If you want to."_

 _Sperantia thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Okay. I accept."_

 _Prim smiled. "Great!" She stood up. "Let's put our instruments away."_

" _Hey!" Rory said. "I don't get an invite? No fair…I've been cooped up here long enough."_

" _Later," Prim said as she bent and kissed Rory on the forehead. "Once you're out of here. Until then, be good!"_

 _Rory watched the two girls as they walked out of the ward._ She's okay, I guess, for a Capitol girl, _he said to himself. He sighed._ Prim kissed me on the forehead! I have something to look forward to once I'm outta here.

 _Rory Hawthorne felt better than he had in days._

* * *

I popped my head into the classroom. "You wanted to talk to me, Prim?" I asked.

"Hey, Peeta." Prim looked up from the PADD that she had been studying and smiled. "Yeah, really quick. About tonight."

Tonight was Katniss's welcome home dinner. "I'll be there at six," I said, returning her smile.

"There's a couple of extra guests," Prim continued. "I've invited Sperantia Blackstone." Quickly, she brought me up-to-date on Sperantia's "episode" in Post-Op Ward Alpha.

When she finished, I whistled softly. "She really cried, huh?" I wondered how I managed to miss all the commotion, even though I had been working at the opposite end of the ward when it had occurred.

"I felt really bad for her," Prim said. "I thought maybe it would help if she was able to share a meal with people that didn't act like they hate her."

I was unconvinced. "We'll see," I said. "You said a 'couple of extra guests.' Who are the others?"

"Just one," Prim replied. "Andromeda Snow." She quickly raised one hand, palm out. "And before you say anything, just listen for a minute. I know Andromeda is mad at you for some things that you said –"

"Prim, I told her that I want to kill her grandfather!"

Prim ignored me. "- and Sperantia is angry with Andromeda for what she sees as her betrayal. Peeta, we're going to that refugee camp in Eight in a matter of days. They want to use us all as propaganda showing us united to help the bombing victims. And to do that, we can't have people angry at each other."

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "Is this Plutarch's idea?"

"It's mine," Prim said. "Peeta, I may only be fourteen, but even I can see that a bunch of people hating on each other in a propo isn't gonna work."

"You have a point," I said admiringly. I sighed. "Okay. I've been meaning to speak to Andromeda anyway. I guess tonight's as good a night as any, as long as Katniss is alright with it."

"I've already spoken to her about it," Prim said. "She's like you. Skeptical. But she's willing to try."

I nodded. "Okay. Let's hope it works." Something else that Prim said finally registered with me. "Wait a minute. You just said, 'We're going to that refugee camp in Eight.' What exactly does that mean, 'We're going?'"

Prim hesitated. "I haven't told Katniss yet," she replied reluctantly, "but I'm going too."

I stared at Prim in amazement. "Well, tonight should be very interesting," is all I could think to say.

Very interesting, indeed.

 **PART III**

" _I wish you would have talked to me first, Primrose," Mrs. Everdeen said with a heavy sigh. "This was supposed to be your sister's welcome home dinner. You may have turned a nice family evening into a mini-Rebellion."_

It's never good when Mom calls me "Primrose," _Prim thought. "Mom, I just thought that having them over, with just a few people around, would help them, you know, adjust and –"_

" _Help who adjust?" Katniss asked as she walked into the room. She was still wearing darkened glasses. "There's others coming over tonight?"_

" _Your sister invited two more guests," Mrs. Everdeen explained. "Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone."_

" _I thought it would help," Prim said defensively. "You know, with the propo coming up in the District Eight refugee camp and all."_

 _Katniss turned and faced her sister._ I hate that I can't see her eyes right now, _Prim thought. "Prim, that may not have been the best idea," she finally said after a moment. "Considering how Andromeda feels about Peeta right now, and how Sperantia feels about…well, everyone."_

" _If not now, when?" Prim asked. "You start training in the morning. We're gonna be busy right up until the moment we leave. Do you really want to go back to Eight and try to make convincing propos with angry, hateful people? No one will believe them."_

" _That's Plutarch's problem, Prim," Katniss pointed out. "And Messalla's. Not yours. And what's this 'we' business?"_

 _Prim reddened slightly. "It's everyone's problem, if people aren't getting along. At least the Career Victors were able to set aside their differences with everyone. Andromeda and Sperantia have more personal issues to deal with."_

 _Katniss shook her head impatiently. "Forget about them for a minute and answer my question, Prim. What did you mean by 'we?'"_

 _Prim hesitated for a moment before replying. "I'm going too."_

" _No!" Katniss reached out and grabbed Prim's shoulders._ She's put on weight and she's much stronger now, _Katniss said to herself in surprise._ She's not the skinny little girl that I remember. _"Out of the question! No_ way _are you going!"_

" _Katniss –"_

" _Don't argue, Prim," Katniss said firmly. "First thing tomorrow, I'm gonna talk to Boggs. He'll fix this and –"_

" _NO!" Prim wrenched herself away from Katniss's grip. "Katniss,_ please _! I don't want you talking to Boggs, or Coin, or anyone else." She was near tears, but bit them back. "I_ asked _to go to Eight."_

" _You asked?" Katniss gasped. She spun and faced her mother. "You knew about this, didn't you?"_

" _I did," Mrs. Everdeen replied calmly._

" _And you're okay with this?" Katniss said, her voice rising. "Mom, how could you?"_

" _No, I'm not 'okay' with this!" Mrs. Everdeen said sharply. "Just like I wasn't 'okay' with her being Reaped, and you volunteering for her. Or with you going off to fight a war." She paused and took a deep breath. "But I couldn't do anything about the Games. Just like I can't do anything about this damned war. All I can do is hope that it ends quickly." She looked at her daughters fondly. "Katniss, you've done what you've had to do. Prim is doing what she has to do." She smiled sadly. "The worst thing that I could do is to try to stop either one of you."_

" _She can't go," Katniss insisted. She turned back to Prim. "Prim, you're only fourteen!"_

" _So is Rory," Prim pointed out. "And he almost got killed rescuing Peeta and the others. And what about Andromeda and Sperantia? They're only fourteen, and they're both going."_

" _That's different," Katniss said, but the fire had gone out of her voice. "Rory has been trained as a soldier. Andromeda and Sperantia don't have any choice._ You _do!" Katniss took off her glasses, squinting slightly as the light hit her eyes. She stared into Prim's blue eyes. "You don't have any idea of what you will see out there. It's_ ugly _, Prim! It's ugly and awful and –"_

" _\- and I've been ankle-deep in it for months," Prim finished. "Katniss, I work in the hospital. Mom and I see it_ every day _. Do you think it was easy to see Rory and July come in, all shot up? Or Peeta? He's lucky to be alive after what they did to him. Or –" once again she blinked back tears "- you?" She shook her head. "Mom and I took care of Peeta when he was whipped during your Games. We took care of Rory when_ he _was whipped for poaching. Both of us have seen suffering. So, I know how ugly and awful it is."_

 _Katniss looked at her mother. "Mom?"_

 _Mrs. Everdeen shook her head sadly. "If I had a choice, all of us would be living in peace and safety, with no worries about the Capitol, or Peacekeepers, or the Games, or of going cold and hungry." She stepped forward and wrapped an arm around each of her daughters. "But I don't. Not yet, anyway." She smiled at Katniss and Prim. "But I will._ We _will. The Capitol can't beat us. Not with people like Katniss and Primrose Everdeen on our side. I am so very, very proud of you both. And your father would be, too, if he were here."_

 _Katniss wiped tears from her eyes, wincing painfully, and slipped her glasses back on. "I guess you have a point, Mom," she said reluctantly. Smiling sadly at her sister, she said, "When did you grow up and get so damn strong?"_

" _I didn't," Prim said as she hugged her sister and mother. "It's a trait that all us Everdeen women share."_

* * *

I ran into Sperantia Blackstone and her "escort" (read: guard) on my way to the Everdeen's quarters.

"Right on time," I said as we waited for the elevator.

"I guess," Sperantia muttered. She was definitely a reluctant participant tonight. And I'm sure having to be escorted didn't exactly make her feel comfortable.

The elevator clanked to a stop on our floor. I turned to the guard. "I can escort her from here," I said. "I know the way."

The guard hesitated. "My orders were to stay with her."

"All night?" I asked. "What were you gonna do? Stare at her while she eats dinner?"

"Uhh…uhh, no," the guard stammered. "I mean, I was to wait outside the Everdeen's quarters."

"Look," I said reasonably, "she's wearing an ankle tracker. She's with me. She's my responsibility, okay?"

"Well –"

"You know who I am, right?" I despised people pulling the "do you know who I am" card, but this guy wasn't budging.

"Uhh…yes," the guard admitted.

I gave him what I hoped was a friendly, sincere smile. "If anything happens, you can blame it on me, okay?"

The guard glanced at me, then at Sperantia. "You assume full responsibility?"

"Absolutely," I replied with a nod.

"She's to be back in quarters by twenty-two hundred," the guard said firmly. "If she's so much as a minute late, it will be her ass…and yours."

"Fine," I said as I slid the elevator gate open and I ushered Sperantia in. "She'll be back long before then."

I slid the gate shut and started the elevator moving before he could change his mind. I glanced over at Sperantia. "Is this better?"

"Yeah," she muttered, and then looked up at me. "Thanks."

"I just figured it would be a little easier for you to relax if you didn't have a District Thirteen guard looming over you," I said.

"It is," she admitted. She pointed at my cane. "How much longer do you need that?"

"I really don't need it anymore," I replied. "It helps sometimes, though."

"Well, what if I decided to run?" she asked. "You couldn't catch me."

"First," I said, "you are in District Thirteen. There's no place for you _to_ run. Second, you're wearing an ankle tracker that can instantly pinpoint your whereabouts twenty-four hours a day. Finally, and this is most important –"

I paused. "What?" she asked impatiently.

"If you ran, my ass would be in a sling." I looked at her sternly. "So, don't get any ideas."

"Okay, okay," she huffed. And then she did something that I had never heard her do up until that very moment.

Sperantia Blackstone let out a small giggle.

 _Maybe there's hope that we can break through that shell of yours after all,_ I said to myself. I sighed inwardly. It was ironic that this girl, who, just a few weeks earlier, would have gladly watched my televised execution, was actually warming up to me, while Andromeda Snow, who literally sacrificed her entire way of life to save me, now wouldn't give me the time of day.

No doubt about it, I have my work cut out for me.

* * *

By forcing Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone into the same room, one of three things would most likely happen – there would be a fight to rival the most epic battles of the Rebellion, there would be stony, sullen silence from both girls, or there would be a combination of the two. Either an immediate fight would settle into silence, or silence would escalate into a battle between the two.

As it so happened, there was a fourth alternative – courtesy of the guest of honor. Who would have ever guessed that Katniss Everdeen could be diplomatic?

Sperantia and I, by some fluke of timing, arrived outside the Everdeen's quarters at the same moment that Andromeda did. And, the initial reaction was predictable. Andromeda managed to somehow look guilty, embarrassed, and indignant all at the same time, while Sperantia's reaction was more reminiscent of Prim's cat, Buttercup, with his hackles raised in anger and a spitting hiss poised on his lips. It would have been almost comical if there wasn't so much at stake.

Sperantia found her voice first. "What is _she_ doing here?" she hissed. Yep, the Buttercup comparison was spot-on.

Andromeda looked like she wanted to melt into the nearest wall. " _She_ was invited, the same as you," I replied calmly.

"Well, I don't think I can do this. Not if _she's_ going to be here as well," Sperantia said snippily.

"All right," I said amicably. "I'll just take you back to your quarters. If you're lucky, your mess hall will still be serving. At least you won't go hungry." I then turned to Andromeda. _I'll be damned if I'm gonna let a fourteen-year-old Capitol girl intimidate me._ "Unless you would rather go instead. I'm sure Mrs. Everdeen would be happy to call an escort for you, if you need help in finding your way back."

I watched each girl closely as I spoke. When they lived in the Capitol, they always had plenty of people around them – household staff, bodyguards, family, and friends. Both girls were gregarious by nature, and spending so much time alone – such as when they were in their quarters – was, for them, a foreign, unpleasant experience. I was hoping that neither girl was anxious to return to an evening of solitude too early.

I was right.

"Well?" I asked. "Sperantia? Do we stay…or go?"

"Stay," she grumbled after a moment's hesitation.

I nodded, once, before turning my attention to Andromeda. "How about you?" I asked.

"I'd…I'd like to stay also," Andromeda replied softly.

"All right," I said cheerfully. "Let's go on in, shall we?"

I rapped sharply on the door before I grabbed the handle and slid it open. "Oh – hey, Peeta," Prim called out when she saw me. I could see that she had a food container in each hand. "I see everyone's here," she continued as she carefully placed the containers on the table. "Come on in."

"Hi, Prim." I said as I stepped into the Everdeen quarters, flanked on each side by Andromeda and Sperantia. I had a feeling that Sperantia was using me as a buffer. No matter. They were both here and that's what really counted.

Mrs. Everdeen appeared and greeted us quickly. The aroma wafting up from the food containers was familiar enough – it was the typical mess hall food that was standard fare here in Thirteen. Katniss was already seated at the table. She looked up at me, an apologetic look on her face.

"Hi, Peeta," she said warmly as I leaned over to give her a quick kiss. She gestured at the table. "Mom and Prim wouldn't let me help. You know I don't like to just sit and be waited on."

"You're the guest of honor, Katniss," Mrs. Everdeen said firmly as she began to open the containers. It made sense that she would be serving mess hall food – family living quarters didn't have anything remotely resembling a kitchen – but I found myself longing for fresh meat courtesy of a well-placed Katniss Everdeen arrow, accompanied by bread, baked by my father's hand. I realized, with a pang of guilt, that I hadn't thought about my father for a long time. Somehow, I felt that he would understand, but that didn't stop a wave of emotion from crashing over me at his memory.

"Hey," Katniss said softly. "Are you all right?"

I glanced at Katniss, who was gazing at me through her dark glasses, concern written on her face. "Yeah," I replied with a quiet sigh. "Hey, I'm sure you remember Andromeda, but have you met Sperantia Blackstone?"

"Of course, I remember," Katniss said. "How are you, Meda?"

"I'm okay," she replied softly as she gave Katniss a somewhat shy smile. "I'm glad that your eyes are okay," she added.

"Me too," Katniss agreed, smiling in return. It seemed to me that her smile was somewhat forced. Katniss then turned towards Sperantia and extended her hand. "We've never actually met. I'm Katniss Everdeen."

After a moment or two, Sperantia took Katniss's hand. "I know who you are," she mumbled as she gave Katniss's hand a brief squeeze. "Nice to meet you," she added, somewhat reluctantly.

The tension in the room was thick, and growing thicker with each passing second. It was obvious that Katniss was not all that thrilled about having additional guests. The additional guests were not happy to be there, either. Something had to be done, and quickly.

"Welcome to you both," Mrs. Everdeen waved us into our seats. "And thank you for coming."

Once again, Andromeda and Sperantia were using me as a buffer. Mrs. Everdeen picked up a plate and addressed Andromeda. "They were surprisingly generous, Andromeda. How much would you –"

"Mom." Katniss reached out to take the plate. "I'll do it. Okay?"

I looked over at Prim and shrugged my shoulders slightly in a _what's going on_ gesture. Prim just shook her head. _I don't know._ Surprised, Mrs. Everdeen handed the plate to Katniss. "I think," Katniss said as she nodded her thanks to her mother, "that Meda has a pretty good idea of what the Rebellion is all about. How about you, Sperantia? Do you know why we're fighting?"

"Katniss," Mrs. Everdeen said quickly, "I don't think that this is the time or place –"

"They're here," Katniss pointed out. "And I'm here. And no one else. No Coin, no Plutarch, no Boggs, no Haymitch. If not now, then when?" She turned back to Sperantia. "What do you know about the districts?"

"The districts each work to provide necessities for Panem to thrive," Sperantia recited. "The Capitol provides stability and security to the districts, and the Capitol oversees a fair division of assets among each of the twelve districts. In turn, the districts provide the Capitol with everything that it needs."

Katniss smiled grimly. "Right out of the same textbook that I studied. Do you believe it?"

Sperantia looked surprised. "I…I guess so."

"What if I told you that the book lied?"

"How could it?" Sperantia asked. "It was issued by the Ministry of Education."

Katniss turned to Andromeda. "Did you ever tell Sperantia about what you saw in District Twelve?"

Andromeda shook her head. "My…my grandfather said that I was not to speak of anything that I saw there, except that I met Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

"Well, he's not here right now," Katniss pointed out. "Andromeda, did Twelve look rich to you?"

"No."

"And how did most people live in Twelve?"

"In shacks," Andromeda whispered. "In a place called the Seam."

Katniss nodded. Still holding the plate, she quickly dished up tiny portions of food and placed the plate in front of Sperantia, and then did the same for Andromeda. "That's the portions that you could expect, living in the Seam." She took a third plate and put slightly larger portions on it before passing it to me. "And that is about what someone from town, like Peeta, could expect to eat."

Sperantia eyed the tiny mouthfuls on her plate. "There's almost nothing there," she said. "People would starve eating nothing but this."

"People did starve," Prim said. "All the time."

"And the Capitol didn't care," I added. "Their only concern was whether the coal miners were making their quotas, or falling behind."

"My father was a coal miner," Katniss said. "He was killed in a mine accident when I was eleven. Do you know what the Capitol did for us?" Sperantia shook her head. "They gave us a medal, and one month's wages. My father had just started to teach me how to hunt shortly before he was killed, but at first I wasn't big enough, or strong enough, to put food on our table. We almost starved."

"What happened?" Andromeda asked, almost breathlessly. _That's right,_ I said to myself. _She's never heard the story._

"Peeta," Katniss said, her voice catching slightly. "I was in town, trying to sell some of Prim's old baby clothes. By then, we had nothing else left to sell. It was pouring rain that day, and nobody wanted to buy the clothes. I knew I couldn't go home empty-handed, so I just sat under an old apple tree and waited to die. Peeta, he saw me, and threw me two loaves of bread that he had burned on purpose. That bread, that was enough to give me hope, and strength."

"Why did you burn the bread?" Sperantia asked. "It's no good if it's burnt."

"My family owned the bakery in District Twelve," I explained. "And you're right, to a point. We couldn't sell burned bread…but it could still be eaten. My mother told me to throw it to our pigs. I gave it to Katniss instead."

"And Peeta showed up to school the next day, with a black eye and bruises," Katniss said. "His mother had beaten him for burning the bread."

At this, Andromeda and Sperantia actually exchanged a glance between them. I'm sure that neither girl had ever been so much as swatted by their parents. It was unthinkable to them that a parent would beat their own child so severely as to cause black eyes and bruises. And, despite the grimness of the story, I smiled inwardly. The look that the girls exchanged was the first non-confrontational communication between them that I had ever seen.

"Sperantia," Prim said, "the boy that you helped treat earlier today – Rory? His father was also killed in the same mine accident. His mother was pregnant at the time with his little sister. She had to go to work washing clothes so her family wouldn't starve."

I leaned forward slightly. "Sperantia, what did the Capitol say why the districts were rebelling?"

She seemed surprised by the question and hesitated for a moment before replying. "Uhh…that the districts were misguided, and violating the Treaty of Treason, and that you were all upset about the Games –"

"The Games where, each year, twenty-three children died for the Capitol's amusement," I finished. "And where the Victors became the Capitol's property."

"That's not true!" Sperantia sputtered. "I've seen the Victors' Village in District One. The Victors there all lived in beautiful homes, and were all rich. They all looked happy, and –"

"Why don't you talk to them?" Katniss suggested, ice creeping into her voice. "Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria. Ask them how happy they all were."

"Did you ever wonder why so many Victors sided with the Rebellion?" I asked. "Lyme is actively fighting in District Two. Wiress in Three, Mags in Four, Blight in Seven, Cecilia and Woof in Eight, Seeder in Eleven – all died _fighting_ the Capitol." I shook my head. "The Capitol's promises to Victors were empty. I lost my leg in the arena. Chaff, from Eleven, lost a hand. Annie Cresta lost her mind. Every Victor that I know suffers from nightmares about their Games – even the Careers. Haymitch Abernathy and Johanna Mason lost their families because they wouldn't… _cooperate_ …with President Snow."

"What do you mean," Andromeda whispered, " _cooperate_?"

I paused for a moment before glancing at Katniss. "I don't think I should –"

"President Snow," Katniss said woodenly, "would find certain Victors…desirable. These Victors he would –" she hesitated and clenched her hands into fists at the memory.

"Katniss," Mrs. Everdeen said softly, "you don't –"

"- sell," Katniss continued through clenched teeth. "To a rich Capitolite. To the highest bidder." Tears rolled out from under her dark glasses. "I was sold. On my 'Victory' Tour. I was sixteen at the time."

"So were others," I said hastily as both Prim and Mrs. Everdeen moved to embrace and comfort Katniss. "Finnick, Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria – they were all expected to 'perform' whenever President Snow commanded them to perform. Johanna Mason refused. Her entire family died as a result."

"I didn't know," Andromeda said miserably.

"If you don't believe Katniss," I continued, "then ask Cashmere. Or Finnick. Or Enobaria." I looked at Andromeda. "Do you understand why I said what I said?"

Andromeda looked down at the table. "You…you don't know him like I do."

"And I never can," I replied softly. "We – all of us – are fighting for a free Panem. For everyone…district and Capitol alike." I turned to face Sperantia. "You and Andromeda are a part of that, whether you wanted it or not."

Sperantia looked uncertain. "I don't –"

"Look," Katniss said impatiently. "All of us in this room, except for my mother, are going to District Eight in just a few days. That means that we are all gonna have to work together. And we can't do that if you –" she pointed at Andromeda "- are angry at him –" she pointed at me "- and if you –" she pointed at Sperantia "- won't talk to her." She pointed back at Andromeda.

"I heard why we're going," Sperantia said. "It's to make the Rebellion look good to the Capitol."

"Would you rather be dead?" I asked.

"No," Sperantia replied, looking down at the table.

"You're right," Katniss said. "We're all going to help the nuking victims. But this isn't just about us, or you, or District Eight. This is about _all_ of us. Thousands have already died in this war. We're trying to do what we can to prevent more people from dying." She looked at Sperantia. "What would the Capitol gain now by winning? Thirteen broken districts, that's what. Snow would exact his revenge on all of us. He would still be in power – but in power over what? Look what he's already done to Eight. Do you want that to happen to other districts as well?"

"We have to finish this," I added. "And the Rebellion _must_ win, for the sake of the entire country. And it will go a long way if everyone, Capitol and district alike, can see district and Capitol, working together, to save lives."

"I can do it," Andromeda said softly.

"Even with me there?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes." Andromeda looked at me intently. "I can understand, and forgive."

"Thank you," I said simply.

"How about you, Sperantia?" Katniss asked.

"I can try," she replied after a moment. "I can't promise any more than that. But you've given me a lot to think about."

The room was silent for a moment. Finally, Mrs. Everdeen said, "We should eat before this gets cold."

I wasn't surprised that no one had much of an appetite – but I felt oddly optimistic. At least, for the time being, it appeared that Andromeda and Sperantia were going to be cooperative. I just hoped that it would last.

* * *

"I feel like it's been ages since I've been alone in your quarters with you," Katniss whispered as our lips parted.

"Me too," I breathed, as my arms tightened around her.

She moaned softly as my hands dropped to her hips and pulled her closer to me. "It's been even longer since –" she sighed as my fingers tugged at the hem of the short robe that she was wearing.

"I know." She pressed her lips hungrily to mine once more as I fumbled with the tie of her robe. My hands slipped inside and brushed against warm, smooth skin. Katniss broke our kiss long enough to tug my shirt over my head before she grabbed the hem of my shorts and yanked them down. I pushed the robe off her shoulders and pulled her close to me once more, exploring her mouth with my tongue as she eagerly pressed herself against me.

"I love you," she whispered as her fingers grasped me, stroking gently.

I gasped with pleasure. "I love you, Katniss." I pulled back a little and stared into her eyes, now quickly glazing over with passion. In the dim light of my quarters there was no need for her dark glasses. As I watched, her eyes fluttered shut as she moaned again.

"You…you seem to have recovered nicely," she managed to say as I slowly lowered her to my bed.

We spent the next several hours exploring just how much I had recovered. I'm just thankful that the District Thirteen quarters were sound-proofed so well.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19**

 **PART I**

 _Coriolanus Snow's face was impassive as he watched the Holo-vid. Only the rhythmic clenching of his jaw muscles betrayed any emotion at all. The Holo-vid was short, grainy, and was obviously not recorded using a stable camera platform. However, the faces of the subjects of the video were quite clear._

 _Snow watched the Holo-vid to the end, and then watched it again in its entirety. When it finished the second time, he finally turned to the man that was standing patiently to one side. "How old is this, Blackstone?" Snow asked, his voice thick with emotion and fatigue._

" _Two days, sir." Security Minister Blackstone's voice was also heavily laden with emotion. One of the subjects of the video had been his only daughter, Sperantia. "Our operatives believe that the relief party from District Thirteen had only been on the ground at the refugee center in Eight for a few hours at the time that these images were recorded."_

" _I see." Snow turned away and steepled his fingers, resting his chin on their tips, a thoughtful look on his lined face. "Sperantia looks well," he finally said._

" _Yes, sir," Blackstone replied carefully. "As does Andromeda."_

" _Indeed." Snow swiveled his chair around and gazed at his Security Minister. "It would appear that both Andromeda and Sperantia are colluding with the Rebels. No matter." He waved one hand in the air dismissively. "Teenage girls are easily coerced. I'm confident that they will both return to normal once we have won the war and they are both safely back here with us."_

Hasn't he been keeping abreast of the situation? _Blackstone thought._ We are losing this war, despite nuking Eight! _"We've confirmed that Katniss Everdeen is in Eight as well, sir," Blackstone said, deftly changing the subject._

 _Snow nodded. "And the asset?"_

 _Blackstone nodded. "The asset is in place as of this morning, sir."_

" _Excellent." Snow tapped a control on his desk, and a grainy, slightly out-of-focus image of Katniss Everdeen appeared over his desk. "And it is one hundred percent reliable?"_

 _Blackstone nodded. "It's engineered to respond to Everdeen's scent. With luck, she will be with Mellark when the asset is deployed. Killing two birds with a single stone, so to speak."_

 _Another dismissive wave of a well-manicured hand. "No matter. If Katniss Everdeen is dead, Peeta Mellark will be rendered ineffective. What is the earliest that the asset may be deployed?"_

" _At your command, President Snow," Blackstone replied. After a moment, he added, "Perhaps we should instruct the handler to only deploy the asset when there will be minimal collateral damage, sir."_

" _Oh?" Snow arched up a single eyebrow. "And why is that, Blackstone?"_

" _It would make it easier, sir," Blackstone replied, feeling as though he was walking on eggshells, "to affect a positive identification of the remains of Katniss Everdeen if she is the only casualty of our attack."_

" _And, at the same time, ensure that your daughter emerges unscathed?" Snow asked pointedly._

" _Sir, hurting Sperantia would do nothing to further our cause," Blackstone said, his voice teetering on defiant._

" _Not to mention your effectiveness as my Security Minister," Snow added. "Blackstone, our civilization rose from the ashes of an ancient, corrupt society hundreds of years ago. Following the Catastrophes, the survivors managed to rebuild and prosper through little more than sheer will and determination. And they were not bothered by trivial matters such as 'collateral damage.'" He shook his head. "However, your concern for your daughter is…understandable. Very well. You may issue your 'minimal collateral damage' orders, but pertaining only to your daughter - and my granddaughter."_

 _Blackstone nodded. "Thank you, sir."_

" _That will be all, Blackstone," Snow said, dismissing the minister with a wave of his hand. "Send in Spartacus on your way out, please."_

* * *

 _Snow began watching the Holo-vid even before the door closed behind Blackstone. A moment later, the door opened again. "Sir," Spartacus Knight, Snow's Chief of Security, said as he stuck his head through the open door, "you wanted to see me?"_

 _Impatiently, Snow waved Spartacus in, his eyes never leaving the Holo-vid projection. Spartacus stood by silently as the Holo-vid played through. He knew better than to interrupt._

 _When the last image flickered off, Snow stopped the projector and turned to Spartacus. "I want surveillance on Minister Blackstone increased. He's wavering, Spartacus. His daughter in the hands of the Rebels has caused his commitment for the final victory to falter. I want to know immediately if he displays any aberrant behavior. We can't afford an ineffective Security Minister at this juncture, now, can we?"_

" _No, sir," Spartacus replied firmly._

" _That is all, Spartacus."_

" _Yes, President Snow."_

 **PART II**

I awoke with a start, my eyes straining into the darkness of the tent, dimly lit by a pair of chem lights that glowed a soft green, marking the exits at each end. I turned to one side, barely able to make out a shadowy form moving near the cot next to mine. I must have made a sound when I turned, because the form stopped moving and turned to look at me, and spoke softly.

"Peeta," Katniss whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

I glanced at a clock that hung from the end of my cot. 4:37 in the morning. "I have to get up in twenty-three minutes anyway," I murmured as I propped myself up on one elbow. "The question is, why are you up so early?"

"Haymitch woke me up a half-hour ago," Katniss explained quietly. "Plutarch called him last night. He feels that I would be more useful being videoed at some staging area near the border with District Five, rallying the troops."

I frowned. The closest border with District Five was at least three hours away by truck. "Just you?" I asked, not liking the idea of letting her out of my sight.

"I'll be fine," she assured me as she sat on the edge of my cot. "Messalla and Castor will be going, along with half our security squad." She leaned forward to kiss me and I noticed that she was wearing her full Mockingjay uniform, complete with bow and quiver of arrows. "Besides," she added after she kissed me, "I'm pretty much useless here. You know how I am around sick people."

She had a point. We had been treating refugees for the last three days – people either horribly burned from the nuclear firestorm, or sickened by radiation exposure – and, even though our efforts were token at best, the constant stream of dying people was taking its toll on everyone, including the professionals. Doctors, nurses, medical technicians, and Healers like Prim Everdeen were all nearing exhaustion, both mentally and physically, and it was no easier on amateurs like me.

"I'll be fine," she repeated as she stood up. "Go back to sleep. I'll see you tonight."

"'Go back to sleep,' she says," an irritated voice muttered from the other side of the tent. "I'd like to still be asleep, but that's impossible now, thanks to you two lovebirds."

"Sorry, Jo," Katniss said, not sounding at all sorry. As she turned to leave, she grabbed a jacket hanging above her cot and tossed it onto mine. "When you see Prim, give this to her to wear. It's too cold out for her to be running around in scrubs."

I picked up the jacket, recognizing it as the leather jacket that Katniss wore while hunting. I knew it meant a lot to her…it was one of the few possessions of her father's that she had managed to hang on to. "Will do," I said with a smile.

Just then, Haymitch stuck his head inside the tent. "You ready, Sweetheart?" he asked jovially.

Katniss sighed and, in the dim light, I could see her roll her eyes. "Yes, Haymitch."

I squinted as a small electric lantern blazed to life. "Fuck you, Abernathy," Gloss grumbled as he rolled out of his cot. "Hard enough to sleep here without you making all this fucking noise."

At this, Haymitch laughed. "Y'all have a good day, now," he said, and then ducked a boot that Cashmere threw at his head. To Katniss, he said, "Let's go, Sweetheart. It's a long drive."

"Coming," Katniss replied impatiently. She bent over me one last time and gave me another quick kiss.

"See you tonight," she whispered.

"I'll be here," I murmured, and then pressed her dark glasses into her hand. She was still a little sensitive to bright light. "Don't forget these."

"Oh, for the – just _go_ , already!" Johanna snapped.

Katniss flashed me a smile, mouthed the words "thank you," and was gone. I clutched her jacket to me for a moment. I had a vague, uneasy feeling about her going away like this, but, at the same time, I knew how uncomfortable Katniss was around all the victims of Snow's nuclear attack. And I knew that she wouldn't leave unless she was confident in the knowledge that her sister was safe.

Finnick walked by my cot and gave my flesh-and-blood foot a playful smack. "Let's go, Peeta," he said with a grin. "Or do you need an engraved invitation?"

"I'm up, I'm up," I said as I swung my legs out from the bed, shivering a little as the cold air hit my exposed skin. It was below freezing outside, and Finnick, who was on his way to the latrines to clean up, was dressed accordingly.

Enobaria, on the other hand, appeared dressed for summer weather. "You Fours act like _this_ is cold," she scoffed. "This is nothing compared to winters in District Two."

"I'm sure the princesses aren't cold," Gloss muttered. " _They_ get to stay in a real building with the doctors and nurses."

The "princesses" was the name that the Careers had given Andromeda Snow, Sperantia Blackstone, and Primrose Everdeen. While it was true that they were billeted in much nicer quarters than we had, they worked just as hard as the rest of us, and probably harder than any of the Careers. "Gloss," I said evenly, "those girls are probably already setting up in the triage tent. So, you may want to cut them a little slack. Okay?"

"Hmmphhff," was his only response. Finnick caught my eye, grinned, and shrugged his shoulders. He had taken an almost brotherly interest in both Katniss and I on this trip, not to mention the protectiveness that he showed Prim, Andromeda, and Sperantia. I suppose it helped to keep his mind off Annie Cresta, his fiancée – she had suffered what Dr. Aurelius called a "minor breakdown" the night before we deployed to Eight, and had remained behind. I suppose we served to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. I didn't mind. I liked Finnick a lot.

"Let's go," he urged, "before these other assholes use up the hot water."

I grabbed my towel and toilet kit. He didn't have to tell me twice.

* * *

A crowd was already gathering outside the wire when we arrived at the triage tent. "Good news travels fast," Gloss muttered as he eyed the growing mass of sick and injured.

I didn't reply. Instead, I sought out Prim, who, along with Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone, had indeed been busy setting up the triage tent while the rest of us were just getting out of our cots. Prim smiled when she saw me, and then frowned as I handed her Katniss's jacket.

"Strict orders from the Mockingjay," I said sternly. "You are to wear this, being as you always seem to forget your coat in your quarters."

"Where's Katniss, Peeta?" Prim asked as she shrugged into the too-large jacket. Quickly I explained Katniss's new assignment.

"That makes sense," Prim said after I finished talking. "Katniss is really no good at this sort of thing." She tugged at the hem of the jacket. "Thank you for bringing this to me. I have been getting cold, working in here."

I smiled at her. "Any time." I leaned forward and lowered my voice so only she could hear me. "How are Meda and Speri doing?"

"Better than I thought," she admitted. "They are hard workers. And it's nice to have roommates. When they put me up in the building with the doctors I thought I was gonna be all alone."

I understood. Prim had never had to deal with living alone before, and she was very close with both Katniss and her mother. With a pang, I remembered how difficult it had been for me to live without my brothers always teasing me good-naturedly. I realized that I hadn't thought about them, or my father, in a long time.

Fortunately, Andromeda Snow snapped me out of my self-induced mini-funk. "Prim," she said softly, "do you think I should open a new box of the large gauze dressings before we open?"

"Sure," Prim replied with a smile. "Go easy on the morphling, though. Save it for the terminal cases. Make them comfortable."

"Okay," she said, and then glanced at me. "Hello, Peeta."

"How are you holding up, Meda?" I asked. I hadn't had much chance to talk to her since our arrival here.

She shrugged. "Okay, I guess." She looked over at the door to the tent. "There's just so _many_ hurt people!"

I nodded. "I know." I patted her on the shoulder. "Keep it up."

She sighed. "Thanks. I'll try."

A tap on my shoulder caused me to turn around. There stood Pollux, wearing his camera shell and helmet, with Lavinia close by his side. "Good morning, Pollux – Lavinia," I said with a smile.

Pollux grinned, his even white teeth showing through his reddish-blonde beard, and signed something to me. I hadn't kept up on my learning of sign language – Castor was always nearby to translate when needed – and I was only able to make out an occasional word. Lavinia tried to help, but with both gesturing at me I was only becoming more and more confused.

"I'm sorry," I said apologetically. "I don't understand."

"He wants to know if you will be working with Prim, Meda and I today, now that Katniss is not here," a soft voice behind me said. I turned to see Sperantia Blackstone standing behind me, her arms full of dressings and antiseptic packs, and my eyes widened in surprise.

"You understand what they're signing?" I asked.

She nodded. "My father had Avox working for him as house servants," she explained. "I picked up their sign language about when I learned to talk. I'm not very good at signing myself, though," she added apologetically.

This girl was full of surprises. "Speri," I said, "as long as Castor is gone, how would you like to be our interpreter?"

"What about Dr. Picardo?" she asked.

"I'll fix it with him," I assured her. "We need someone that can understand Pollux and Lavinia. And that's you. I'll talk to Picardo, don't worry."

"Talk to me about what, young Victor?" a familiar voice said. I turned and saw Dr. Josephus Picardo stride purposefully into the tent.

"Good morning, Doc," I greeted him, and then quickly outlined my idea to use Speri as our Avox interpreter in Castor's absence.

He nodded thoughtfully. "An excellent utilization of existing resources," he said when I was finished. "Very well." He turned to Speri. "Sperantia, you are excused from your medical duties until further notice."

"About that," Speri said hesitantly, "would it be okay if I still helped whenever I can?"

Picardo glanced at Pollux, who nodded vigorously. "Your temporary supervisor says yes," Picardo said, "and I have no issue with accepting your assistance. You and Andromeda have done remarkably well here, considering the primitive circumstances."

"Thank you," Speri said softly, embarrassed by Picardo's praise. Josephus Picardo was not a flatterer. He meant every word that he said.

"Now that we have settled the issue of interpreting for our erstwhile Avox colleagues," Picardo said loudly, "I think it's time we open for business."

A Rebel soldier had been standing by near the entrance to the triage tent. Catching Picardo's eye, she nodded once before stepping out into the frigid air. "They're ready," I heard her call out. Through the walls of the tent, we could hear the now-familiar sounds of soldiers moving about to provide security for us, and for other, similar tents…we Victors, along with Andromeda and Sperantia, may have been here primarily for show, but the Rebel Council – a loose coalition of leaders from other Rebel districts – was now determined to provide as much aid to the bombing victims as it could.

If this aid didn't interfere with the war effort, of course.

As we finished setting up, Finnick nudged me slightly and flicked his eyes in Picardo's direction. I followed his gaze and smiled as Cashmere took up her usual position, which was never more than a couple of steps away from Josephus Picardo. Finnick saw my smile and grinned back in return. Picardo and Cashmere was the most unlikely pairing imaginable, and it was obvious that the usually calm, detached doctor was enjoying the attention that Cashmere was lavishing on him.

Johanna saw us watching Cashmere and Picardo. She snorted and shook her head. As she worked, I heard her mutter, as if to herself, "Love is weird."

I thought of Katniss and smiled again. _It sure is, Jo,_ I thought. _Weird…and oh, so wonderful._

 **PART III**

" _Let me have your attention," the officer, a young lieutenant, said, his amplified voice booming out towards the throng of people pressing up against the wire fence. "We will open the gates in two minutes._ Do not _rush the gates! Everyone will be seen. Priority will be given to children under twelve and –"_

 _A nondescript man stood on the fringes of the crowd and tuned out the words of the Rebel officer as the animal that stood at his side pressed against his legs and quivered slightly with excitement. The man, who gave every outward appearance of yet another bombing refugee, reached down and absently scratched the animal on its head, ruffling its fur slightly between its wolf-like ears, before his fingers trailed down the animal's neck until they brushed against a solid strip of material embedded across its spine._

 _The man's fingers moved fur aside and he glanced at the exposed metal strip, where a tiny light burned a bright green. Satisfied, he patted the animal on its side and leaned down so his mouth was near one wolf-like ear. "You smell her, don't you?" the man whispered, and felt an immediate quivering response. A wave of radiation-induced nausea swept over the man and he dropped to one knee as his stomach clenched and threatened to erupt. The man clenched his eyes shut and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths until his nausea subsided. The animal at his side looked up at him questioningly before its tongue lapped twice over the man's face._

" _Soon," the man promised. "Soon, and we'll both be able to rest for eternity knowing that we've done our duty." The man rose to his feet with an audible groan. His superiors had insisted on exposing him to radiation to the point of illness – otherwise, they had explained, merely pretending to be ill would not have fooled any of the doctors or other medical staff in the refugee center._ No sacrifice too great for the glory of the Capitol, and the preservation of Panem, _he thought, as the crowd began to shuffle forward._ They said that I would receive medical treatment to reverse the effects of radiation, once the mission was successfully concluded. But I know better. And to die for such a noble cause…what an honor.

 _The man was shaken from his reverie by the sound of another man's voice. He turned to face the refugee that had been speaking to him, and irritably snapped, "What?"_

 _The refugee, a small man dressed in shabby work clothes, recoiled from the man's hostile tone. "Easy, citizen," the refugee said quickly. "I was just asking if you would consider selling your dog. Good thirty or forty kilos of prime meat on that one!"_

 _The man possessively dug his fingers into the animal's scruff. "Not for sale," he muttered with a glare. Next to him, the animal, sensing the man's tension, laid its ears flat against its skull and bared its teeth menacingly as an almost inaudible growl rumbled in its chest._

 _The refugee was persistent. "A trade, then?" He glanced knowingly at the man's ragged clothing. "Listen." The refugee lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned closer to the man. "I know where there's a warehouse full of winter clothing. Genuine Peacekeeper issue. Parkas packed with groosling down. Keep you warm in the coldest weather."_

 _The man's hand suddenly shot out, his fingers closing around the refugee's throat. "I said 'not for sale,' and I meant it!" he hissed. The refugee's eyes widened as he fought for air, his own hands clawing ineffectually at the man's iron grip. "Now,_ leave me alone! _"_

 _The man released the refugee, who stumbled back, gasping, even as a pair of Rebel soldiers ran up, carrying their carbines across their chests. "You two!" the lead soldier barked. "Break it up!"_

 _The man scratched the animal reassuringly as he rose to his feet. "Everything is all right," he said calmly. "Just a small disagreement about my dog."_

 _The soldiers glanced at the man, and then at the refugee, who was standing nearby, gingerly rubbing his throat. "You get one warning," the lead soldier said firmly. "And this is it. Any more trouble and you go to the back of the line." The soldier looked pointedly at them both. "That applies to both of you."_

" _I understand," the man said smoothly. "About how much longer, do you think?"_

 _The soldier glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of refugees, then turned back and shrugged. "Hard to say. They see children and families with children first. Shouldn't be more than a few hours, at the most."_

 _The man nodded. "Thank you." He knelt back down next to the animal and stroked its fur as he watched the soldiers walk away. "Soon," he whispered. "Once we're in the gate, nothing can stop us." The animal turned its head towards the man's voice and licked the hand that caressed its jaw. The man looked down at the animal's large, intelligent eyes and smiled._

" _No matter what else happens," the man whispered, "the Mockingjay dies today."_

 **PART IV**

"How many more children?" Prim called out as the next family came into the tent.

"I'll check," I said, as I stuck my head outside the tent. A quick glance told me everything that I needed to know. I dropped the tent flap and turned to face Prim. "Only adults after this," I called out.

"Thanks, Peeta," Prim said with a smile, and then turned to the family. A young couple with a single child – a girl of maybe six or seven years of age. My practiced eye flicked over the trio as they stood by nervously. _No obvious signs of radiation sickness,_ I thought. _Certainly, sick from exposure and malnutrition_. I nodded to myself. _They'll live. At least for now._

The morning rush had slowed considerably, so Picardo had begun to send some of the staff to lunch. Once he was through with his examination of the family then he and Cashmere would get something to eat, leaving his instructions with Prim, who was more than capable of completing whatever treatment that Picardo had ordered.

"Bring them over," Picardo said, waving one hand impatiently. I nodded and approached the family, smiling at them reassuringly.

"The doctor is ready to see you," I said. It was then that I noticed the little girl, her eyes wide with fright, clinging to her mother's leg, refusing to move.

"I'm sorry," her father said softly. "She's frightened. She's never seen a doctor before." The man glanced nervously at Picardo. "None of us have, for that matter."

"Don't worry," I reassured him. "Nothing to be afraid of." I bent down towards the little girl. "Come on," I urged her with a smile. "Dr. Picardo will make you feel better. Nothing to be worried about." I held out my hand to her but she shrunk back even more.

 _Now what?_ I looked up at the girl's mother. "Really, it's okay," I said.

The mother simply looked embarrassed. "Calico, honey, come on," she murmured as she tried to urge the girl forward. The girl simply whimpered and clung to her mother's leg even tighter.

"Let me try," a soft voice said from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sperantia Blackstone kneeling just behind me.

I moved to one side and straightened up. "Hi," Sperantia said softly. "My name is Speri. What's yours?"

The little girl looked at Sperantia warily, but finally replied, "Calico."

Sperantia smiled at the refugee girl. "Calico. That's a pretty name."

Calico smiled shyly. "You have a funny name," she said.

"I'm not from here," Sperantia explained. "I came to help." She gestured at the rest of us. "All of us came here to help. Would you let me help you?"

Calico seemed to relax a bit, but she still didn't move. Sperantia inched a little closer and held out her hand. "Come on, Calico," she said softly. "No one will hurt you. I promise."

"I'm scared," Calico whispered.

"I know," Sperantia continued gently. "I know what it's like to be scared. But you have your mommy, and your daddy, and me here to protect you. And I'll stay with you the whole time. Okay?"

For a long moment, Calico continued to cling to her mother's leg. Finally, ever so slowly, she released her grip on her mother and slid her hand into Sperantia's. "You'll stay with me the whole time? Promise?"

"I promise," Sperantia said as she straightened up. "Come on with me. We'll let the doctor and my friend Primrose take a look at you."

Calico giggled. "Your friend has a funny name, too."

As Sperantia and the family walked past me, I said softly, "Nice job."

"She reminded me of someone I know," Sperantia said, her voice thick with emotion.

"Oh, really?" I replied. "Who?"

Sperantia glanced back over her shoulder as she ushered the family into the first exam area. "Me."

With that, Sperantia drew the curtain to the exam area closed. I smiled and shook my head. _That girl is full of surprises._ "I do believe there's hope for you yet, 'Hope,'" I murmured under my breath as I turned away.

A soft whistle caught my attention, and I turned to see Pollux grinning widely and making the "okay" gesture with one hand. I understood him perfectly. He had captured the entire exchange between Sperantia and Calico on camera – and that was just the sort of video that Plutarch would drool over when he saw it.

Of course, leave it to Enobaria to bring us back to the present. "How touching," she said, her voice sweetly sarcastic. "But you don't suppose that you can lend Gloss and I a hand before the afternoon session starts, do you, 'Soldier' Mellark?"

"Be right there," I sighed. Behind me, Pollux gave a rueful chuckle, earning him a playful dirty look from me. _Only a few more days of this, and we'll be back in Thirteen. I can't wait to finally have a little privacy with Katniss!_ I glanced at the smirking faces of Enobaria and Gloss and sighed again. _Not having to live with them twenty-four hours a day will be a huge bonus, too._

* * *

A few minutes later, Dr. Picardo emerged from the exam area. "Give them each a broad-spectrum antibiotic," he was saying to Prim, "get them fed, and then send them to the shower point so they can clean up." He paused and added, "Send them to the clothing tent before they bathe. No sense in them laundering the rags they're wearing."

Prim nodded. "Yes, Doctor."

"Remember, Primrose," Picardo continued, "have them wait fifteen minutes following the administration of the antibiotic before sending them to the mess tent. We wouldn't want them to –"

"- throw up everything that they've eaten," Prim finished with a smile. "I know, Doctor."

Picardo looked startled for a moment but recovered quickly. "Of course you do, Primrose," he said fondly. "Well, then. Cashmere and I are going to grab a quick bite, then. We shouldn't be long." He glanced over at me. "Young Victor, would you care to join us?"

My rumbling stomach told me it had been quite some time since breakfast. "Sure, Doc," I replied. I glanced at the others. "Anyone else?"

Pollux and Lavinia nodded vigorously. Gloss muttered something that may have been "not today." No surprise there – he and Enobaria usually took their meals separate from the rest of us, even more so since Picardo and Cashmere had become so, shall we say, "close." I shrugged and looked at Sperantia. "How about you, Speri?"

The girl hesitated before replying. "Would it be okay if I went with Calico and her parents?"

I couldn't help but notice that Calico had a firm grip on Sperantia's hand. "Sure," I said with a grin. I patted her on the shoulder as we all walked past her towards the rear entrance of the triage tent. "We'll be back soon."

"Peeta." I stopped and turned towards Prim. She was still bundled in Katniss's too-large leather jacket. "Please let me know if turnips are on the menu again today. I just may skip lunch if they are."

I chuckled. "You aren't big enough to skip meals." I glanced at Pollux and Lavinia. "Shall we?"

Pollux ushered me out of the tent with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, and together the five of us strolled towards the mess tent. I glanced up at the sky and felt the sun warm my face as it made its first appearance in days. _Now that,_ I said to myself as we walked, _feels great!_

 **PART V**

" _Hold it."_

 _The man stopped at the command as the guard to his front glanced down at the animal at the man's side. "Where do you think you're going with_ that _?"_

 _The man coughed weakly and slowly wiped bloody sputum from his chapped lips._ Those bastards gave me too much radiation, _he thought._ I need to complete my mission now, while I still have the strength. _To the guard, he said, "That is my dog. What would you have me do with him?"_

 _The guard didn't seem to have a ready answer for that. "I…I'm not sure," the guard stammered. "Ain't no one ever tried to bring a dog in here before."_

 _The man reached into his shabby coat and produced a length of cord. "I suppose I could tie him to the fence," he offered. "As long as no one bothers him while I'm gone."_

 _The guard looked relieved at the suggestion. "Okay, sounds good," he said as he gestured towards the fence. "Tie your dog over there."_

 _The man guided the animal to the indicated spot of fence and began to make an exaggerated production out of tying a loop in the cord._ Stupid rebellious district scum, _he thought. He glanced casually at the line of tents that had been set up to treat District Eight refugees. He then knelt next to the animal, who was trembling with excitement, its nostrils flaring, and ran his hand through the animal's fur one last time._

" _You smell her?" the man asked. The animal whined, low in its throat. The man dropped the cord to the ground and fished a small, metallic box from his jacket pocket. A small light on the top of the box glowed green. The man examined the indicator light for a moment before flicking a switch on the side of the box. The green light disappeared, replaced now by an amber glow. The man ran his hand across the animal's spine near the base of its skull, quickly exposing a similar amber light. The man nodded in satisfaction and slowly rose to his feet._

" _Hey!" The man swiveled his head towards to source of the voice. It was the same guard. "Are you gonna tie your dog up, or what?"_

 _The man smiled. "I changed my mind," he said with a smile, while making a furtive hand gesture with his free hand._

 _The gesture was the command that the animal had been waiting for. With unnatural speed, it bolted away from the man, speeding unerringly towards the third triage tent. The guard watched, open-mouthed, as the animal, moving so fast now that it was a brownish blur, sped towards its target._

" _Someone catch that dog!" the guard shouted as he and another guard approached the man. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

" _Killing the Mockingjay," the man replied with a smile, as he smoothly drew a pistol from beneath his coat and quickly shot both approaching guards._ So much for "collateral damage," _the man thought, smiling as he watched both guards crumple to the ground as the crowd of refugees, panicked by the gunfire, began to bolt in all directions._

" _And that's not a dog," he added as he watched the animal disappear into the third tent. Over the panicked cries of the crowd and the shouts of guards trying to work their way through the stampeding mob, the man heard the sound that he had been waiting for – an unearthly, almost human howl. He smiled and flicked the switch on the box once more, and then depressed a rubber-coated plunger when he saw the indicator light glow red._

" _That," he said softly, as the sides of the third tent bulged outward, and the sound of an explosion rolled over the camp, "was a muttation, courtesy of President Coriolanus Snow."_

 **PART VI**

" _How do you feel?" Prim directed the question at the entire refugee family._

" _Fine," the man replied quickly as he rubbed his hip. He had never had an injection before the one that Prim Everdeen had given him, just a few minutes before, and the place where she had inserted the needle was sore. "Can we go now?"_

 _Prim glanced at the clock and shook her head. "Eight more minutes," she said firmly. "You don't want to get sick if you have a reaction to the injection."_

 _The woman squeezed her husband's hand and leaned closer to Calico. "Just a little while longer, baby," she said softly._

" _And then we eat?" Calico asked hopefully._

 _Sperantia smiled at the little girl. "And then you eat."_

 _Further conversation was abruptly stilled by a sudden commotion outside the tent. "Now what?" Gloss grumbled, looking up from the box of supplies that he had been unpacking._

" _I'll check," Enobaria said as she moved towards the entrance to the tent. She had only taken a couple of steps before they all heard a pair of loud, sharp reports. Enobaria glanced back at Gloss. "Gunshots," she said, her face grim._

 _Prim's eyes widened in alarm. "Gunshots? What –"_

 _Enobaria and Gloss were already in motion. "You!" he barked at the refugees. "Out the back. Now!" He spun around. "Eno, show them the –"_

 _He never finished his sentence. The flaps of the front entrance flew open as a brown blur burst into the tent. It had been moving so fast that it actually tumbled over itself as it tried to stop. It would have been almost comical in other circumstances. Here, no one was laughing._

" _A dog?" Prim said, confusion in her voice._

 _The animal stood stiff-legged, its snout raised in the air as it sniffed frantically. "That's no fucking dog," Gloss muttered. "That's a mutt." He sidled carefully to one side, trying to place himself between the mutt and Prim. He risked a glance over his shoulder at the refugee family. "Get out of here," he ordered hoarsely. "NOW!"_

 _The man finally began to move, pushing his wife and Calico behind him and towards the rear entrance, even as Enobaria placed herself between the mutt and Sperantia. Her muscles tensed and she bared her sharpened teeth, anticipating an attack by the dog-mutt. But the animal was ignoring her, focusing all its attention on Prim. Still, it didn't attack. It did something else._

 _The mutt raised its snout in the air an unleashed an almost deafening howl. Gloss's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of an amber light glowing from a metallic strip across the mutt's spine. "Oh, shit," he whispered, before bellowing, "everybody DOWN!"_

 _Gloss dove towards Prim, knocking her bodily to the ground, even as Enobaria did the same to Sperantia. The last thing that Gloss ever heard in his life was the sharp huff of air as he knocked the breath from Prim's lungs. He didn't hear the thunderous explosion as the mutt was blown to bits._

 **PART VII**

I set my lunch tray down and grinned at Picardo. "Now," I said, "the question is, do I tell Prim that turnips are on the menu again, or not?"

"A dilemma, indeed, young Victor," Picardo replied. "Perhaps if there were a change of pace to beets, now –"

Finnick was just rising to his feet, his empty tray in hand, when suddenly he froze. "Shhh!"

I glanced up at him in alarm. I had heard the gunshots as well. Cashmere spun around on the bench, her butter knife clenched in one hand. "We're under attack," she stated bluntly.

"Yeah, well, if we are," Johanna pointed out, "that butter knife ain't gonna do you no good, blondie."

A pair of armed soldiers entered the mess tent, holding their carbines at the ready. "Everyone remain in place for now, until we find out what's going on."

Cashmere slowly lowered the knife, but she didn't sit back down. "I'm not in the habit of letting others do my fighting for me," she snapped. "Give me a gun. Hell, give me a decent knife and I'll –"

A tremendous explosion rocked the mess tent, the concussion slamming into us with brute force. For an instant following the blast, it was completely silent in the tent, before complete bedlam erupted, and people began running in all directions.

I jumped to my feet, stumbling a bit as my prosthesis caught on an uneven patch of ground. Finnick grabbed my arm and spun me around. "That blast came from the triage tents," he said urgently.

We didn't waste any more time. The pair of soldiers that had ordered us to remain in place were frozen in their tracks, looks of shock on their faces, as Finnick and I brushed by them and literally burst through the twin flaps of the tent's front entrance. Finnick pulled me after him as we fought our way through the panicked crowd that was growing more panicked with every passing second. I was getting jostled with every step that I took, until Finnick and I finally broke through the crowd – and stopped dead when the line of triage tents came into view.

Triage Three – our tent – was half collapsed, one end sagging badly as dirty, yellowish-brown smoke poured from its vents. "Oh, no," I managed to whisper as I stared at the tent in horror. _Prim…Speri…_

"Easy," Finnick said softly. "Easy, Peeta." Soldiers and medics were rushing towards the tent, impatiently cutting through the tough synthetic fabric if a door wasn't readily available. Weak-kneed, I tried to pull away from Finnick, but I couldn't find the strength. As we watched, a pair of medics crawled out from the wreckage and ran towards a nearby storage tent. Their path would take them directly past us.

Finnick didn't waste the opportunity, grabbing one of the medics by the arm as they darted past. "Who made it out?" he asked sharply.

The medic stared at Finnick, then at me, a haunted look on her face, and managed to mutter two words.

"No one."


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

 **PART I**

I must admit, _Boggs said to himself as he watched Katniss speak to the Rebel soldiers clustered around her,_ Katniss Everdeen really has a way with the troops.

 _Katniss Everdeen had reached near-legendary status with the Rebels. Her Victory during the Hunger Games, and her almost inhuman skill with a bow and arrow, had made her a pre-Rebellion celebrity in her own right. But, as the Mockingjay, she had discovered that the Rebel soldiers – most, if not all, coming from circumstances in their own districts that were like those that Katniss had endured in her first sixteen years – related to her, because she was one of them._

 _Soldiers meeting Katniss Everdeen for the first time may have been expecting the courageous, determined Mockingjay that they had seen on the propos. They were surprised, and some a little disappointed, to instead meet a small, somewhat shy girl that had no trouble in admitting that, like them, she felt fear and uncertainty whenever she faced battle. What won them over was the realization that this girl had, in fact,_ done _everything that the propos showed her doing, and still could admit to feeling the very emotions that the soldiers themselves felt._

 _Katniss was not a polished public speaker, and sometimes had trouble finding the right words to express how she felt, but her fellow soldiers didn't mind. She truly was one of them._

 _Boggs glanced at his watch._ Noon. Haymitch and I are expected to take lunch with the local commander and his staff, where I'll have to explain why Katniss chose to eat with the troops instead of the brass. _He chuckled softly to himself._ Nothing like taking them down a notch – especially the local commander. He's practically bursting with self-importance. And when Haymitch starts in on him –

" _Excuse me, Colonel." Boggs turned away from Katniss and her throng of admirers. His driver stood nearby, the latest code book in his hand. "I have priority scrambled traffic inbound from Lieutenant Jackson."_

 _Boggs, surprised, raised his eyebrows. "Jackson? And she actually scrambled the inbound traffic?" The use of a scrambler was reserved for radio traffic of an urgent and/or sensitive nature. If Jackson was scrambling her message –_

 _The driver nodded. "Yes, sir." He gestured with one arm. "In our vehicle, Colonel. I've already gone secure."_

 _Boggs nodded his thanks and climbed into the cab of his command truck. He carefully shut the door before placing the headset over his ears and adjusting the boom microphone. Only then did he depress the push-to-talk button._

" _Mockingjay Five," Boggs said in clipped tones, "this is Mockingjay Six Actual. Go ahead, over."_

 _There was a short delay before Jackson's familiar voice – now slightly distorted by the secure scramblers – crackled in his ears. "Six Actual, this is Five. Prepare to copy operational immediate sitrep. Over."_

 _Boggs frowned. A_ situation report _? And an operational immediate – that was the highest priority for any radio traffic._ Something happened at the refugee center, _Boggs said to himself._ Something bad. _He picked up the message book that his driver had left for him, pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, and depressed the push-to-talk button. "Send your traffic, Five. Over."_

 _Jackson was a professional. Her report was concise and by the book. It took her no longer than three minutes to relay to Boggs the catastrophe that had befallen the refugee center. When she finished talking, Boggs issued a single command. "Dispatch a high-speed hovercraft to my location."_

" _Roger," Jackson replied. "I've got one standing by. They'll be wheels-up in thirty seconds. ETA your location…thirty minutes."_

" _Copy that," Boggs said, and then added, "have you been in contact with home base?"_

 _Home base was District Thirteen. "Negative," came the immediate response._

 _Boggs wrestled with the temptation to use the high-powered communications equipment that was available in the staging area headquarters._ No, _he thought._ The fewer people in on this information, the better…for now, anyway. _"I'll contact them from the hovercraft," Boggs finally said. "I want to keep things under wraps regarding Katniss. If she was the actual target, I don't want to let the enemy know that they missed. Keep me posted if anything changes."_

" _Roger, Six Actual. Five out."_

 _Slowly, Boggs removed the headset and glanced quickly at his watch. Thirty minutes. He had thirty minutes to somehow break the news to Katniss Everdeen that her beloved sister, Primrose, had been severely injured during an assassination attempt, and that Katniss herself had apparently been the assassin's target. He sighed heavily and slowly opened the door to his command truck, scanning the immediate area for any sign of Haymitch Abernathy._

I'll tell Abernathy first, _Boggs said to himself as he stepped out of the truck._ He's practically family with Katniss. And it's always better to have family present when you are delivering bad news.

* * *

 _The image on the view screen was grainy and full of static. "President Coin," the man in the image said insistently, "my plan relies on air support, and you have the greatest number of operational fighter-bombers. Without them –"_

" _General Beck," Coin interrupted sternly, "we cannot support this plan. District Two has been effectively isolated from the eastern districts. There is no strategic necessity for an assault such as the one that you propose. The answer is no. No hovercraft."_

 _General Lucius Beck removed his hat and ran his hand over his closely-cropped hair. "Dammit all, woman! Peacekeepers from Two have been conductin' raids all along my western frontier, foraging for food and supplies. There's no other significant fightin' goin' on right now. I have a real chance at drivin' those sons of bitches clear back to the Nut!"_

" _General," Coin replied coldly, "you are encouraged to take whatever measures that District Ten feels necessary to secure your frontier. But this adventure smacks of individual districts fighting their own war against the Capitol. Need I remind you that the First Rebellion failed, in part, due to lack of cooperation between districts?"_

" _But –"_

" _Keep me posted, General," Coin said. "District Thirteen out."_

 _Coin tapped a control on her desk, and the view screen suddenly went dark. She allowed herself a quick smile._ I shouldn't feel satisfaction at putting Beck in his place, _she thought,_ but I do. _It was then that she noticed her personal assistant, Henry Elliott, standing in the doorway. "You have something for me, Henry?"_

 _Henry shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "There's been an – incident, President Coin. In District Eight."_

" _Define 'incident,' Henry," Coin said impatiently._

" _An attack," Henry replied softly. "Against our medical team. There was…some sort of explosion. And a man, dressed as a refugee, shot and killed two gate guards. He was taken into custody without a struggle. They think he had something to do with the…explosion."_

 _Coin sat bolt upright. "Who reported this?" she demanded. "Boggs?"_

 _Henry shook his head. "Someone from Paylor's staff. I don't remember the name. He's in charge of the refugee camp in Eight."_

" _I want to speak to Boggs," Coin ordered. "Why hasn't he reported?"_

" _I…I don't know, ma'am," Henry said. "Communications called as soon as they received the transmission from Eight. They said they tried to call you directly, but your comm unit was set to 'Do Not Disturb.'"_

While I was talking to Beck _, Coin said to herself. "Was there a…casualty report?"_

 _Henry nodded slowly. "Primrose Everdeen, Sperantia Blackstone, and the Career Victors, Gloss and Enobaria." He paused for a moment before continuing. "The transmission cut off before comm could get details, and they couldn't re-establish contact. I…I'm sorry, ma'am."_

" _What about the Mockingjay?" Coin asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Katniss Everdeen? What about her?"_

" _The explosion was in the triage tent where they were all working," Henry replied. Softly, he added, "They were still pulling bodies out when the transmission was cut off. There was no report on the condition of Primrose Everdeen or the others. Just that they were in the tent and identified."_

" _I want to talk to Boggs," Coin ordered. "That's top priority, Henry."_

 _Henry hesitated. "What if Colonel Boggs was in the tent also?"_

" _We don't know that, Henry," Coin replied. Henry simply nodded in response and turned to leave. "Wait a moment."_

" _Yes, ma'am?"_

" _After you get Boggs on comm," Coin said deliberately, "I want you to prepare a statement for me, that I will broadcast to the Rebel districts." She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "A memorial statement, honoring those that died during the terror bombing." She paused again. "Include Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark in that statement. We can edit once we have confirmation of survivors – if there were any."_

 _Henry nodded. "Yes, ma'am."_

" _One more thing, Henry," Coin said wearily. "Contact Majors Zander and Festuca and have them report to me." She paused for a moment before adding, "Lieutenant Potter, Plutarch Heavensbee, and Casca Bishop as well. If we have lost the Mockingjay, I want to get started on an alternate plan as soon as possible."_

" _Yes, ma'am," Henry said._

" _That's all for now, Henry. You may go."_

" _Yes, President Coin."_

* * *

" _President Snow."_

 _Coriolanus Snow's eyes opened with effort and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain even as he swung his legs off the couch that he had been reclining on._ I don't think I've had a decent nights' sleep since this Uprising began, _he said to himself._ When it's over. When it's over I'll catch up on my sleep.

 _Snow focused on the figure standing in the doorway. "You have news, Spartacus?"_

 _Spartacus inclined his head slightly. "We've heard from our operative inside Thirteen, sir. It appears that the operation in Eight was a success."_

 _Snow stood slowly and fixed Spartacus with a steady gaze. "'Appears,' you say? That's not a word that I would choose to report the unfortunate demise of the Rebellion's beloved Mockingjay."_

 _Spartacus shifted uncomfortably. "Our operative is attempting to confirm the casualty list, President Snow. But the asset responded to Everdeen's scent, just as it was designed to do. The asset's handler detonated the explosive upon hearing the asset's confirmation howl. Surprise and speed were our allies in this attack, sir."_

 _Snow nodded thoughtfully. "Order the ministers to a special meeting, Spartacus. Pending any conflicting information, we will assume that the Mockingjay is, in fact, no longer among the living." He paused as he sunk into the plush, high-backed chair behind his desk. "If that is the case, we need a new plan." He smiled grimly. "This pathetic Rebellion will wither and die on the vine without their figurehead." He turned towards Spartacus. "Contact my ministers, Spartacus. I want them here within the next two hours."_

 _Spartacus nodded. "Yes, sir."_

" _You may go, Spartacus."_

" _Yes, President Snow."_

 **PART II**

I couldn't believe that there was anyone left alive in the triage tent after that explosion.

Primrose Everdeen and Sperantia Blackstone were still alive – shielded from the worst of the blast by Gloss and Enobaria, who had tackled the girls to the ground and absorbed the blast with their own bodies. In fact, Sperantia was conscious when the soldiers and medics finally cut away enough material to reach her. Even Enobaria was still alive, although in much worse shape than both Prim and Sperantia. Enobaria and Speri were found lying behind a heavy table that appeared to have shielded them from the blast somewhat. Whether Enobaria toppled the table deliberately or if she simply knocked it over when she tackled Speri – well, I doubt if anyone will ever know for sure.

Gloss, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Neither was the family of refugees that happened to be in the tent when the bomb exploded.

I saw Gloss when they carried him out. He had been punctured by so many fragments – medical supplies, pieces of furniture, even shards of bone from the animal (a mutt, I learned later, that was a virtual living bomb) that had been blown to bits – that he looked…well, deflated. For that matter, so did the mother and father of the refugee family that happened to be in the tent during the attack. The man and woman had probably been facing towards the blast, as they were unrecognizable. The little girl, however, was scarcely touched. One of the soldiers told me that her parents had probably had just enough time to push her behind them. She almost looked like she was asleep – except for the blood trickling from her closed eyes, her ears, her nose, and her mouth.

It was heartbreaking, seeing an entire family killed in a place that was supposed to offer them sanctuary. But what made it even worse was Speri's anguished wail when she first saw the lifeless body of the little girl. I doubt if anyone there will ever forget Speri's outpouring of grief, or the little girl's name, Calico, that Speri sobbed out over and over.

Pollux was there also, his camera capturing every moment. Soon, all Panem would know the name Calico.

* * *

Finnick Odair wordlessly handed me a water bottle as I paused to wipe my sweating face with a grimy scrap of cloth. We had both been working with the soldiers and medics in clearing away our triage tent and its contents. The bodies of the victims – both living and dead – had been removed first, but their blood was a grim reminder of what had just happened here.

I nodded my thanks and drank deeply. "I don't envy you," Finnick said as I wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You have to tell Katniss," he replied matter-of-factly. "How do you think she'll take it?"

 _Katniss._ "Not very well," I muttered. The sound of a hovercraft lifting into the sky caused us both to glance over our shoulders. As we watched, it quickly gained altitude and streaked off westward. I had a feeling that it was enroute to wherever Katniss was. Boggs wouldn't waste time traveling overland. Not after something like this.

"You won't have to tell her," a voice said from off to our left. Lieutenant Jackson was striding towards us quickly, trailed by the rest of our security squad. "I've already reported to Boggs. He gets to tell Katniss – not you." I was oddly relieved that the news of Prim's narrow escape would be delivered by someone else.

"Do you have any idea just what happened?" Finnick asked.

Jackson rubbed one hand over her face and sighed wearily. "Not completely. But it appears that the attack was controlled by a man masquerading as a refugee." She shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense. He shot and killed two guards and loosed the animal on your triage tent. But, once the attack was completed, he just sat down on the ground and waited to be taken into custody."

"He's Capitol?" I asked tightly. _Damn Snow!_

Jackson shrugged. "Our best guess is either Capitol or a Peacekeeper from Two. We just don't have a lot of info yet. We are pretty certain that the animal was a mutt. Witnesses reported that it moved too quickly for it to be a natural dog, and it wasn't wearing any kind of harness, so the explosive charge had to have been _inside_ the animal."

"So why this attack? Why today?" I asked angrily. "Was Katniss the target? Was _I_?"

Jackson motioned Finnick and I to lean closer before she replied. "We think the primary target was Katniss. Which means, for now, we let Snow and company think that he killed her. That way, the target is off her back."

"Do you think that'll work?" Finnick asked. "After all, a lot of people know that she left this morning."

"Only those that went with her and those that worked in this tent," Jackson replied. "Even the administrator here didn't know that she took off early this morning."

"How long do you think you'll be able to keep that a secret?" Finnick continued.

"Long enough to get her back to Thirteen – alive," Jackson replied. She looked at Finnick and I thoughtfully. "But, we don't know for sure that Katniss was the principle target. So, until we get back to Thirteen, everyone – you two especially – will be kept under guard." As she spoke, the soldiers with her stepped forward. It was apparent that they were here to ensure that nothing happened to Finnick and I.

Jackson gestured towards our security detachment. "After you, soldiers."

"Where are we going?" I asked as we walked towards the center of camp.

"Administration," Jackson replied curtly. "It's the most secure area here." She gave me a sidelong glance. "I don't mind telling you that I was worried about you at first. No one knew for sure if you were in the tent when…" Her voice trailed off, leaving the obvious unsaid.

"Yeah," is all I managed to say.

"What about the others?" Finnick asked. "The survivors?"

"They're going back with us," Jackson said. "That hovercraft that you just saw leave? It's on the way to pick up Katniss and her party. It'll be back here in an hour. The docs need the time to stabilize Primrose, Sperantia, and Enobaria. Once it's back we load up and take off. We'll be back in Thirteen by nightfall."

"And you really think it'll work?" Finnick asked. "Passing off Katniss as dead, I mean."

Jackson shrugged. "That decision was made by Boggs and Abernathy." We reached the main administration building and Jackson pulled open a door. "Go on in. Make yourselves comfortable. You have an hour or so."

I recognized the tone in her voice. Any argument would be useless.

 **PART III**

 _Boggs grabbed a hand-hold dangling from the upper bulkhead as the hovercraft shuddered slightly. "It's confirmed, President Coin," he said somberly. "Katniss Everdeen is dead."_

 _Both the pilot and co-pilot looked at Boggs sharply. In response, he shook his head slightly and pressed a finger to his lips. "That…that's news I really wasn't prepared for, Colonel Boggs," Coin's voice, surprisingly thick with emotion, crackled over the earbuds that Boggs was wearing. "I will have to prepare a statement for the other Rebel districts."_

" _She actually sounds choked up," Katniss muttered dryly. She was wearing a pair of headphones so she could listen in on the conversation, although, with no microphone, she couldn't speak to anyone. "I had no idea I meant that much to her."_

 _Boggs let his rebuke die on his tongue. Katniss was much calmer now than she had been an hour earlier, when he and Haymitch Abernathy had broken the news about her sister, Prim._ She let it turn to something else, _Boggs thought._ She's angry…no, furious…about what happened to her sister. But she's calm, and I'm not about to get her worked up again by reaming her for her smart-ass remarks. _"That sounds like a good idea, ma'am," Boggs finally said in response to Coin._

" _And the others?" Coin's voice asked. "Peeta Mellark, Andromeda Snow, and the rest? Their status?"_

 _Boggs snapped his fingers at Haymitch, who looked up irritably from a report that he had been reading. "I need the casualty list," he whispered, his hand cupping the microphone._

 _Wordlessly, Haymitch handed over the list. Mouthing a word of thanks, Boggs removed his hand from the end of the microphone and quickly read the list to Coin. "That's it," he finished. "We were lucky, President Coin. The only KIA other than Everdeen was Gloss."_

" _Gloss," Coin repeated. "And Enobaria was wounded?"_

" _Affirmative."_

" _This may help us turn the tide in the Career Districts," Coin said, and then added, "according to Heavensbee. Their actions certainly seemed heroic enough."_

" _Yes, ma'am," was all Boggs said._

" _And the present condition of the three injured?" Coin asked._

" _Stable," Boggs replied. "Enobaria will require emergency surgery upon landing. Primrose Everdeen suffered a severe concussion, in addition to numerous lacerations and abrasions, as did Sperantia Blackstone. Madam President, perhaps this transmission could be linked directly to the hospital when we are finished. Dr. Picardo could provide them a detailed prognosis and have appropriate treatment for each standing by."_

" _I agree," Coin said. "Very well, Colonel. We're finished here. You may put the doctor on…but first, I wish to see you immediately upon your return to Thirteen. You can explain to me then, in detail, why it took you over an hour to report to me."_

 _Boggs grinned sheepishly at Katniss. "Yes, ma'am." He paused as Dr. Picardo made his way to the cockpit. "Here's Picardo now. Boggs out."_

 _Boggs pulled the headset off and handed it to Boggs. "All yours, Doc." He glanced down at Katniss, who was removing her own headphones. "Peeta still out?"_

 _Katniss nodded. "They gave him a sedative. Once he had a chance to think about it - he…he had to deal with all that without me. Having to see Prim…" her voice trailed off as she rose to her feet and suddenly gripped Boggs tightly, choking off a strangled sob. "I should have been there. Prim is my responsibility. I let her down. I –"_

" _Enough," Boggs said sternly. "If you had been there, chances are that both of you would be injured – or worse. So, stop it. Right now."_

 _Katniss said nothing. She glanced at the rear of the passenger cabin, where a hooded, shackled figure lay, hunched against the bulkhead of the hovercraft. "When I'm not thinking about Prim, all I think about is killing him," she muttered._

" _I know," Boggs replied softly. "I know. We need him alive for now, though. He thinks you're dead. We're hoping that we can get him to talk once we get back to Thirteen. He considers himself a big hero, you know."_

 _Katniss snorted and shook her head. "Hero," she said disgustingly. She glanced up at Boggs. "You're sure he can't hear me?"_

" _He's wearing sound-dampening ear muffs under that hood," Boggs explained. "He can't see or hear you."_

 _Katniss stared at the immobile figure. "I'm going to sit with Prim for a while," she announced after a long moment._

" _All right," Boggs said gently. "I'll let you know when we're ten minutes out from Thirteen. That should give us enough time to get you into a body bag."_

 _Katniss said nothing, although Boggs saw her shoulders stiffen slightly and her back muscles tense._ What memories does that image awaken, Katniss? A metallic claw descending from a hovercraft, perhaps? The carnage of the Reaping Day Uprising in District Twelve? Or maybe something more recent – you have all too many memories to choose from.

 _Boggs sighed and turned around to stare out the cockpit window, and idly wondered what life in a peaceful Panem would really be like._

 **PART IV**

" _It's confirmed?" Coriolanus Snow asked impatiently. "The Mockingjay is dead?"_

 _Spartacus Knight nodded, once. "Yes, sir. Her body is enroute to Thirteen as we speak. Our contact in Thirteen confirmed this not five minutes ago."_

" _And the ministers? When will they be arriving?"_

 _Spartacus glanced at his chronometer. "Thirty minutes, sir."_

 _Snow grinned, his puffy lips stretching over his teeth in an almost feral sneer. "Excellent," he hissed. "We will broadcast this news to all Panem. Then, Spartacus…then we watch this pathetic Rebellion topple like a flimsy house of cards."_

" _Yes, sir." Inwardly, Spartacus shook his head in disbelief._ Even if Everdeen is dead, the Rebellion has too much momentum. Her death will simply make her a martyr to their cause.

" _You may go, Spartacus," Snow said dismissively as his eyes dropped down to the status report on his desk that he had been reading. "I wish to be informed as soon as the Information Minister arrives. I must speak to her in private before I meet with the others. She has a press release to prepare."_

" _Yes, President Snow."_

 **PART V**

 _"Evie, stop!" I heard myself cry out. I felt tears spring to my eyes as I watched, helpless to do anything, as the girl stopped, and then deliberately turned her back on the advancing mutt-snake. "Please...you don't know what you're doing!"_

 _"Yes, I do," Evie replied softly, as her eyes closed and her head bowed towards her chest. "I'm going home."_

 _The mutt-snake struck with surprising speed. One second it was a good ten meters from the girl, and in the next its head struck out with blinding speed, its mouth clamping down on the girl's right shoulder, picking her up bodily off the ground as it quickly coiled around her. In a second the only part of her that was still visible was her head as Husker and I watched the coils contract around the girl's small body._

"Peeta. Peeta, wake up."

My eyes snapped open. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest. I gasped once, loudly, even as a familiar pair of hands grabbed my shoulders firmly and forced me back against my seat.

"Easy," Katniss murmured. "Easy. You were having a nightmare."

I nodded as my eyes focused on Katniss's face. Usually it was me comforting her after a nightmare. "Arena," I managed to mumble as my heart slowed to normal.

"I figured," she said gently. "You're okay, Peeta. You're safe."

Her last statement caused me to laugh bitterly. "Safe," I repeated. I stared up at her face hovering over mine, and ran the backs of my fingers over her cheek. "Thank you."

She grabbed my fingers and squeezed them quickly. "How's Prim?" I asked as the fog of sleep lifted from my brain.

"She woke up ten minutes ago," Katniss replied. "She was really dopey. Picardo said that disorientation was common with her kind of…injuries."

"I'm sorry, Katniss," I whispered. "If I had been in that tent –"

"Stop," she said firmly. "You'd be like her right now. Or –"

Katniss left the last part unsaid. She didn't have to say it. I knew exactly what she meant.

 _Time to change the subject._ "How long was I out?"

Katniss shrugged. "We're almost back to Thirteen," she said. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty stretcher laying on the floor near the aft ramp. There was a single body bag gaping open atop the stretcher. She shuddered slightly and turned back towards me. "I have to get into that thing soon."

"I don't get it," I muttered. "We got you out of Eight with everyone thinking you were dead. What's the point of keeping up the lie?"

"The point," Boggs said from behind us, "is that there's a leak."

I jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. I didn't even know he was there until he spoke. "What do you mean?" Katniss asked, seemingly unfazed by Boggs' stealthy appearance. "What kind of 'leak?'"

Boggs hunkered down in front of us. "Someone in Thirteen is feeding the Capitol information. We think that helped the Peacekeepers capture you in Ten, Peeta. We're hoping that the mole –"

"The _what_?" Katniss asked.

"The mole," Boggs explained impatiently. "The spy for the Capitol. Anyway, we're hoping that the report of your 'death' was passed on to Snow. He won't pass up an opportunity to gloat and we're hoping that he trumpets your 'death' to every district in Panem. If that happens, it will be a simple matter to determine exactly who had access to the information."

"What then?" I asked.

Boggs frowned. "I don't understand."

"So, you uncover this spy," I continued. "What happens then? Do you take him Topside and execute him?"

"That will be up to a military tribunal," Boggs replied. "The mole will receive a fair hearing."

"Before being shot on Coin's order," Katniss muttered. "For that matter, how will she react once she realizes that you lied to her about me?"

Boggs tensed visibly. "President Coin will understand the necessity of my deception," he replied stiffly.

Something in his tone caused me to glance at him sharply. "Coin doesn't know about this spy, does she?"

Boggs shook his head tersely. "No."

Katniss let out a low whistle. "You kept this from her? You _do_ like to live dangerously, don't you?"

Boggs gazed at Katniss and I intently. "The fewer people in on it, the better. Until a few minutes ago, only Heavensbee and I knew about it."

Katniss glanced around the crowded hovercraft. "Looks like everyone here is in on it now, too."

Boggs exhaled slowly. "They had to, if our 'Katniss is dead' deception is to be successful." He chuckled ruefully. "Believe me, Haymitch was not happy that I kept it from him either…although he understood the necessity." He paused and glanced knowingly at the hooded and bound figure of the would-be assassin. "At least he doesn't know."

Katniss glared at the mysterious attacker. "He owes me, Boggs. He owes me for what he did to Prim."

"Your payback will have to wait," Boggs pointed out. He rose to his feet. "We're getting close. You have a date with a body bag."

"I can wait," Katniss said coldly as she stood up. "As long as I get what's owed to me."

And, as I watched Katniss being zipped into the body bag, I knew that she would soon collect. Sixteen years of living in the Seam taught her two invaluable life lessons – one, pay your debts promptly, and, two, collect on debts owed just as quickly. Katniss didn't like to owe anyone anything…and that included me.

She didn't like to be owed anything even more.

* * *

Boggs, Jackson and I stood off to one side as the stretchers bearing Prim, Andromeda (who had become hysterical on the flight back to Thirteen, forcing the medics to sedate her), Speri, and Enobaria were off-loaded. They were all under various stages of sedation, ranging from bleary-eyed incoherence to (in Enobaria's case) total unconsciousness. Also present was President Coin, her face set in a grim mask as she watched the medics wheel away the battered quartet.

"Colonel," Jackson said softly, "would it be possible for me to receive notice when Enobaria is awake and able to have visitors?"

Boggs glanced at his trusted lieutenant in surprise. "I don't see why not," he replied. "Any particular reason?"

Jackson blushed slightly. "She…she's a warrior. A soldier. And a hero to the Rebellion. Someone worthy of respect."

Boggs was about to say something else, but stopped when he saw two stretchers bearing body bags being carried down the hovercraft ramp. Coin, accompanied by Major Zander and her ever-present assistant, Henry Elliott, stepped forward to join us. No one said a word as both stretchers were carefully placed on gurneys.

"Considering the circumstances," Boggs said quietly, "I thought it appropriate that both Gloss and the Mockingjay return with us."

I watched Coin carefully, remembering my first meeting with her – and seeing her fury when she discovered that we had carried Cressida's body with us from District Twelve. On this occasion, however, she merely nodded. "Heavensbee suggested that we perform what he described as a 'state funeral' for Gloss and Katniss," she replied. "He feels that broadcasting such an event to the districts still engaging in battle would have a positive effect." She turned to me. "It's fortunate that you escaped injury, Soldier Mellark."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, hoping that I sounded grief-stricken.

Coin actually patted me on the shoulder. "Katniss Everdeen's death will mean something, I promise." She then turned to Boggs. "I'll leave it to you to safely store the…remains…until the memorial."

"Yes, ma'am," Boggs said, and then turned to Jackson. "Lieutenant?"

"On it, sir," she replied sharply and gestured for the medics attending the gurneys to follow her.

Coin watched the gurneys rolling away for a moment before turning back to me. "You will be contacted for debriefing later, Soldier Mellark. In the meantime, get cleaned up, have something to eat, and get some rest." She then beckoned to Boggs. "Colonel, please come with me. We have some…matters…to discuss."

I waited until Boggs and Coin were both out of sight, and then turned and hurried off in the same direction that the medics had carried Gloss and Katniss. I wanted to be there when she "came back to life."

 **PART VI**

" _So." Coriolanus Snow glanced around the table at his assembled ministers. "It appears that what is left of Katniss Everdeen has been returned to District Thirteen." He turned and handed the single page report to the communications runner that stood patiently to one side. "Return this to communications, and instruct the duty officer that I wish to open a channel to District Thirteen immediately."_

 _The runner inclined his head slightly. "At once, President Snow."_

 _As the runner hurried from the room, the Information Minister leaned forward. "President Snow," she said, choosing her words carefully, "perhaps it would be prudent to wait, before speaking with the Rebel leadership, so that we may acquire more information."_

 _Snow glanced at the minister, one eyebrow raised inquiringly. "The Mockingjay is dead, Egeria," he replied. "Exactly how much more information is required?"_

" _I'm simply concerned that the Rebels will attempt to use her as a martyr to their cause, sir," she explained. "We should be able to counter their preposterous claims with facts."_

 _Snow smiled indulgently at his Information Minister, but there was steel in his gaze. "Egeria, the only facts that matter are the facts that Katniss Everdeen was blown to bits in an area that she considered secure. Our operative witnessed her shrouded corpse off-loaded from a hovercraft personally. No…no, we strike now, while Mayor Coin and her staff are still coming to grips with the loss of their beloved symbol."_

 _With that, Snow turned to face the assembled ministry. "Now then," he said, "I shall first speak to Mayor Coin and offer her my 'condolences,' and then we will broadcast the confirmation of the death of the Mockingjay to the entire nation, courtesy of Egeria's masterfully written press release."_

* * *

The images on the view screen were compelling – shots of the relief team in District Eight, treating the sick and wounded, with special emphasis on the efforts of Primrose Everdeen, Andromeda Snow, and Sperantia Blackstone. I had to admit, Messalla and Plutarch put together probably the most powerful propo yet, especially the finale, where Speri was interacting with the girl named Calico in one sequence – and sobbing over her broken, lifeless body in the next.

Finally, the last image faded away as Plutarch's voice-over concluded. "Lights," Coin called out. When the lights came up, Coin glanced at the others seated around the conference table. "Excellent job, you two," she said, nodding towards Plutarch and Messalla. She turned to Beetee Latier. "When is our next window to break into the Capitol communications bands?"

Beetee glanced at the PADD sitting on the table to his front. "A little more than an hour," he replied.

Coin nodded. "I'll want to broadcast a statement following the airing of the video," she said. "The districts need to hear of the Mockingjay's death from the Rebel leadership."

"Of course," Beetee agreed. "I can hold a channel open long enough for –"

Coin's communications terminal buzzed insistently, and she raised one finger to indicate silence, an annoyed expression on her face. "What is it?" she snapped.

"Comm duty officer, ma'am," a nervous voice replied. "We have incoming traffic, both audio and video, on the red channel."

Coin's eyes narrowed. "From the Capitol?"

"Not just the Capitol, President Coin," the voice continued. "From President Snow, himself."

"Patch it to the conference room," she ordered. Glancing at Boggs, she asked, "How the hell did he find out, Boggs?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," Boggs replied.

"Her death was classified," Coin continued. "And, as far as I know, broadcast only over secure channels."

Before Boggs could answer, the video screen flickered to life, and the grinning face of Coriolanus Snow appeared. "Mayor Coin!" he said jovially, "what a pleasure to see you once again."

Alma Coin, to her credit, managed to keep her face impassive. "I assume that you are calling about your granddaughter's welfare? Rest assured, President Snow, that Andromeda, as well as Sperantia Blackstone, have not suffered serious injury and both are expected to make a complete recovery."

Snow's eyes narrowed and he stiffened almost imperceptibly when Coin mentioned Andromeda. "Of course," he continued smoothly, "I already possessed that information. But that is not the reason for my call."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Boggs beckon to Jackson and quickly whisper something to her. She nodded and slipped out of the room, even as Coin said, "President Snow, are you calling to discuss terms of the surrender of the Capitol, perhaps?"

Snow didn't miss a beat. "My dear Mayor Coin," he replied with a laugh, "I was not aware that you possessed such a delightful sense of humor! Perhaps, when I have crushed your little Rebellion once and for all, I may decide to imprison you, rather than have you executed…if you continue to amuse me. Alas, no, my call is of a much more personal nature."

"Please continue," Coin said, somehow managing to keep her face impassive.

"I am calling today to offer my sincere condolences upon the untimely demise of Katniss Everdeen." Snow even managed to sound sincere – if it weren't for the glint in his eye.

"I'm not sure where you obtained your information," Coin said slowly, "But rest assured that Katniss Everdeen is –"

"You are trying my patience, Mayor Coin!" Snow snapped impatiently. "I possess irrefutable proof that your beloved Mockingjay is, at this very moment, in cold storage, zipped into a body bag, awaiting her final resting place."

"And what is the source of your information?" Coin asked tightly.

Snow laughed again. "My dear lady! Suffice it to say that I have been 'reading your mail,' as it were, from the very start of your little Rebellion. My source is quite valuable to me – just as your source…or sources…here in the Capitol are to you."

I glanced around the table as Snow spoke. Only three people here in Thirteen had been privy to Katniss's faked death, prior to our return to District Thirteen. All three were present in this conference room. And none of them had previously suspected that Katniss was still very much alive.

Snow began to speak again at the same time as I heard the door to the conference room slide open. "Let's dispense with your little charade, Mayor Coin. It's painfully obvious to everyone that your 'Mockingjay' is –"

" - Alive and well in District Thirteen," Katniss finished in a strong, clear voice.

* * *

 _For one of the few times in his life, Coriolanus Snow was at a loss for words._

" _President Snow, are you still there?" Katniss Everdeen's voice rang out clearly through the ornately furnished conference room. "This is Katniss Everdeen, broadcasting from District Thirteen."_

 _Snow stared at the flickering image of Katniss Everdeen, resplendent in full Mockingjay armor. With effort, he managed to keep his astonishment off his face, and calmly leaned forward, his hands clasped together and resting on the table as he struggled to find just the right words._

" _President Snow," Katniss said again, "I can see you. You don't look well. Is there a doctor –"_

" _It seems, Miss Everdeen," Snow said slowly, "that the reports of your demise are – somewhat exaggerated. And your concern for my health is quite touching, albeit insincere."_

" _You did manage to injure my sister," Katniss replied coldly. "As well as your own granddaughter, and Sperantia Blackstone."_

" _That was…unintentional," Snow said. "Perhaps it will assuage you somewhat to know that_ you _were the actual target?"_

" _And you missed," Katniss said simply._

" _This time." Snow's voice turned cold. "Goodbye, Miss Everdeen." Snow gestured sharply to a technician at the back of the room. "End it!"_

 _The image disappeared. Snow turned to the Information Minister. "Egeria, I needn't say that your press release regarding the Mockingjay's death is no longer required, do I?"_

" _No, sir," she replied softly._

" _I thought not." Snow glanced around at the other ministers. "This meeting is concluded. Return to your duties. Blackstone, you and Antonius remain behind."_

 _The room cleared quickly. Soon, only Snow, Blackstone, and Antonius remained. With a nod from Snow, Spartacus Knight carefully shut the doors before posting himself just outside the conference room, should he be needed by President Snow._

 _Once the doors were closed, Snow wasted no time. "I was informed that the handler of your exploding mutt was competent," he snarled. "I was also assured that this plan was fool-proof. It appears that neither was the case. I want the handler arrested. Such gross incompetence –"_

" _The handler," Blackstone said evenly, "is in Rebel custody, sir. By all accounts he surrendered peacefully immediately following the explosion."_

 _Snow clenched his fists tightly. "Very well," he finally said. "Then bring me whoever was responsible for the development of that mutt."_

" _We worked with Seneca Crane and his Gamemaker staff on the mutt," Blackstone replied. "Shall I order Crane's arrest?"_

 _Snow's hands unclenched slowly. "No," he finally said. "No." He looked over at Blackstone. "You mentioned something about a report of an offensive by District Ten against my Peacekeepers in Two?"_

" _Yes, President Snow. The Nut has been besieged by both Rebels from Ten as well as Lyme's forces from inside Two itself. Casualties have been heavy on both sides, sir." Blackstone paused before adding, "Sir, you had assured me that Sperantia would not be placed in harm's way during the attack on Katniss Everdeen."_

 _Snow glanced at Blackstone in surprise._ His tone is dangerously close to insubordinate _, Snow said to himself. "I gave you no such assurance, Blackstone," Snow replied, his tone quiet and deadly at the same time. "I authorized you to instruct the handler, through channels, to not attack unless your daughter – and_ my _granddaughter – were clear of the target area. Obviously, he chose to ignore that order." Snow gazed at Blackstone calmly. "Did you issue such an order?"_

" _I did, sir."_

" _Well, then," Snow continued, "his life is forfeit, then, isn't it?"_

" _The handler was exposed to a potentially lethal dose of radiation on your orders, sir," Blackstone pointed out. "Such exposure could cause headaches, dizziness, and disorientation. It may have affected his thinking. And it certainly will kill him if left untreated."_

" _Are you suggesting, Blackstone," Snow asked, in the same deadly tone as before, "that I am responsible for the handler's erratic behavior?"_

" _My daughter could have been killed," Blackstone said, his voice thick with emotion._

" _As well as Andromeda," Snow replied coldly. "And that is the only reason why I am even allowing this conversation to take place. Do you understand?"_

 _Blackstone nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."_

" _We will get our girls back, Blackstone," Snow said reassuringly. "But before we do, we must defeat the Rebels." He turned to Antonius. "Antonius, you will present to me a list of targets inside District Ten that, when destroyed, will disrupt the Rebel offensive in District Two. I also want a list of Rebel targets inside District Two. I want this target list in two hours."_

" _Sir." Antonius chose his words carefully. "We may not have sufficient hovercraft bombers to achieve any sort of effective strike."_

 _Snow glanced at Antonius sharply. "A missile strike, Antonius," Snow explained patiently. "Not a bomber strike."_

" _President Snow," Antonius explained, "we have no missiles equipped with conventional warheads."_

" _I am aware of this fact, Antonius," Snow replied impatiently. "I am not speaking of a conventional strike. You have two hours. I suggest that you not waste any more time."_

 _Antonius glanced at Blackstone, who carefully kept his face impassive. "Yes, sir," is all he said._

" _That's all," Snow said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. "I will see you both back here in two hours."_

 _The doors to the conference room swung open, and Spartacus appeared to escort the two ministers from the Presidential Palace. Neither Blackstone nor Antonius spoke until they had both been deposited at the South Portal, where they waited for their cars to be brought around to return them to the Ministry of Security. Finally, after Spartacus left them, and they had a moment of privacy, Blackstone finally turned to Antonius._

" _He wants to nuke Ten," Blackstone said softly._

 _Antonius nodded. "I know."_

" _And Ten is a major supplier of food for the entire country," Blackstone added._

 _Another nod. "I know."_

" _Targets in Two also," Blackstone muttered. "We're already on short rations, and we've lost more Peacekeepers than we have been able to replace. What do you intend to do, Antonius?"_

" _I intend," Antonius replied slowly, "to give the President his target list in two hours."_

 _As the two cars pulled up, Blackstone leaned forward. "We can't keep dropping nukes," he whispered. "There won't be a Panem left if we do."_

" _As the Deputy Minister of Security, and Praetor of the Corps of Peacekeepers, I am well aware of the consequences," Antonius said dryly. "For now, we buy time."_

 _Blackstone looked at his fellow minister sharply. "And then what?"_

 _Antonius shrugged. "That, I don't know. I do know one thing," he added, as a guard exited his car to open his door for him._

" _What's that?"_

 _Antonius paused at the car door. "No matter what we do, we'll be lucky to be alive this time next week."_

 **PART VII**

When the view screen went dark, there was a moment of silence so intense that I could actually hear others breathing.

It didn't last.

Coin spun around in her seat, her eyes blazing. "Colonel Boggs," she said icily, "you will now explain why you chose to keep from me the fact that Katniss Everdeen was still alive."

"There's a leak, Madam President," Boggs replied. "A mole. A spy, feeding information to the Capitol."

"That is absurd," Coin sputtered. "A spy? _Here_?"

"Yes, ma'am," Boggs continued smoothly. "I ensured a complete communications blackout in Eight before we left. I fed you the report of Katniss's death. There's no way the Capitol received such a report unless it came from here."

"The leak must have come from one of the refugees," Coin offered. Her voice sounded desperate. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her – the discipline and loyalty of the soldiers of District Thirteen had been a source of justifiable pride among Coin and her staff. It must have really hurt her to have her own Chief of Security tell her that a trusted subordinate was a spy.

Boggs shook his head. "Only three people were privy to my false report of Katniss's death," he pointed out. "You, your assistant, Henry Elliott, and Major Zander."

Coin stared at Boggs in astonishment. "You suspect _me_?"

"No, ma'am," he replied. "I don't. It's either Henry or Zander." Both were seated near Coin. Boggs turned to face them.

"Does anyone want to confess?" he asked.

The denials were loud and continuous until Boggs held up one hand. "We can settle this in short order. Lieutenant Potter!"

Darius Potter had been sitting in the back of the room. When his name was called, he snapped to his feet. "Sir!" he barked.

"Is Miss Matthews ready?" Boggs asked.

"Yes, Colonel," Darius replied sharply. "Shall I bring her in?"

Boggs nodded. "Please do." When Darius left, Boggs turned and faced Coin once again.

"Miss Matthews is one of the District Twelve refugees," he explained. "She is – was – a Capitol citizen who worked for the Head Peacekeeper in District Twelve. She administered polygraph examinations for the Peacekeepers."

My mind flashed back to one of my first arrests by the Peacekeepers, and to a kind, sympathetic woman that treated me with fairness and compassion when she hooked me up to her machine to prove that I was telling the truth. Did she manage to bring all that equipment along with her when we fled Twelve?

"What is a polygraph?" Coin asked impatiently.

"A lie detector," Boggs explained. "Miss Matthews will conduct an examination of both Major Zander and Henry Elliott to determine which one is lying." He glanced once more at both Zander and Henry. "Unless, of course, you want to save us the trouble."

"Colonel," Zander said quickly. "I've served under you for a long time. You know –"

"Do I?" Boggs asked coldly.

Darius chose that moment to return. "Miss Matthews is outside, sir."

"Excellent," Boggs said. Turning to Coin, he added, "President Coin. With your permission?"

Coin rubbed one hand over her face. "Proceed, Colonel," she said tiredly.

"Don't bother." Henry Elliott slowly rose to his feet.

Coin stared at Henry in mingled astonishment and rage. " _You_?"

"My whole life," Henry said slowly, "you've been ordering me around, Aunt Alma. Ever since my parents died. I was too young to understand then, but it became all too clear to me as I got older. My father had a good shot at becoming President of Thirteen. What a shame that he and my mother both happened to be in Silo Number Nine, servicing a surface-to-air missile, when there was a fuel leak and explosion."

Boggs stepped forward, one hand outstretched. "Just relax, Henry," he said soothingly.

Henry's hand moved with surprising speed. Before anyone could react, he had a pistol clenched firmly in his fist. "One more step, Colonel," Henry barked, "and you're a dead man."

Boggs froze. "Henry," Coin said, "what happened to Eugene and Naomi was an accident. You know that I would never – he was my _brother_ , Henry!"

"And his death meant that you got the sympathy vote," Henry spat. "You've never even had any opposition since you've been President! How convenient." He glanced around the room, his eyes increasingly wild. " _She_ killed them both! And I had to take her shit for the last twenty years. 'Henry, I need the power usage report for last month.' 'Henry, make sure that the weapons inventory is done _on time_ this month.' 'Henry, I need – I need – I need…"

"So, you turn traitor," Katniss said contemptuously. She hadn't said a word since the transmission with Snow ended. "You piece of mutt-shit. You whored yourself out…to _Snow_!"

I could see Henry's gun hand waver. "What did he promise you, Henry?" I asked. "How much did he promise you?"

Tears sprung up in Henry's eyes. "Only one thing," he sobbed. I could see the gun tremble in his hand.

"What could he promise you?" Boggs asked, even as he shuffled a step closer to the sobbing man.

"Revenge!" Henry shouted as he spun around and pointed the pistol point-blank at President Alma Coin.

And pulled the trigger.


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

 **PART I**

I gazed at the sleeping forms of Primrose Everdeen and Sperantia Blackstone. "They look peaceful, anyway," I whispered.

"No need to lower your voice here, young Victor." Dr. Josephus Picardo glanced up from the chart he had been writing in before hanging it carefully at the end of Prim's bed. "They are both under rather heavy sedation."

With a nod, he indicated the IV drips hanging over both girls. "I don't understand," I said, my voice still soft despite Picardo's assurance that neither girl could hear a word I was saying. "Are their injuries worse than you originally thought?"

Picardo smiled humorlessly. "Physically, they are both recovering quite nicely," he replied. "However, their mental state is…fragile…right now."

"That, Joe, is an understatement," a new voice said from the door. Dr. Aurelius walked into the room, accompanied by a nurse and a medical technician. "Decrease the dosage for both Miss Everdeen and Miss Blackstone by twenty percent," he ordered. "Follow that up with another twenty percent decrease in six hours. They should awaken then, but with enough sedation to keep them both calm."

"Yes, Doctor," the nurse replied.

As the pair began to work, Aurelius nodded towards the door. Picardo and I caught his meaning immediately. It was getting crowded in the small hospital room with the nurse and the tech working. I nodded and followed both doctors into the hallway.

Once in the hallway Aurelius stopped. "You know, Peeta," he said tiredly, "I was quite excited when you, Katniss, and Haymitch arrived here in Thirteen. Imagine…three Hunger Games Victors. I finally had the opportunity to study and treat people that had suffered extreme psychological trauma!" He shook his head sadly. "I have more subjects now than I had ever wanted. Between you Victors, these two –" he waved his hand towards the room we had just left "- and the two in lock-up on Level Thirty-Nine, I have more patients than I can handle…not to mention the cases of mental stress that I've seen brought on by this war that we're fighting."

"Doc," I said defensively, "I'm hardly your patient. For that matter, neither is Katniss, Haymitch, Johanna –"

Aurelius held up his hand. "Spare me the recital, Peeta. I'm well aware of the stubborn streak that all of you Victors seem to share when it comes to seeking therapy. Not that you all couldn't benefit from a little counseling."

"How are the pair on Thirty-Nine faring?" Picardo asked.

"Our would-be District Eight assassin still won't give his name," Aurelius replied. "And, he's dying from that dose of radiation that the Capitol so thoughtfully gave him to 'fit in' with the other refugees." He shook his head again. "He did divulge one bit of information, though – that explosive-rigged mutt was designed to track and react to only one specific scent."

I felt a chill as Aurelius spoke. "Katniss's scent," I muttered.

Aurelius nodded. "Exactly. What's confusing is the fact that Katniss was nowhere near the refugee center at the time of the attack."

"Her hunting jacket was," I said softly. "She had made Prim wear it the morning of the attack. Prim was always forgetting to bundle up when she left her quarters."

"The mutt identified Primrose as Katniss," Picardo mused, "based on Katniss's scent clinging to the jacket."

"That makes sense," Aurelius said, nodding. "The deluded fool is convinced that he killed Katniss in the attack, and that he will receive a hero's welcome in the Capitol, once the Rebellion is defeated, of course."

"Does Katniss know?" I asked. "About her jacket triggering the attack, I mean?"

Aurelius shrugged. "I don't know. I take it she hasn't said anything to you?"

"No." I shook my head. I was sure that Katniss hadn't been told. She wasn't good at hiding her feelings where her sister was concerned.

"And what of our other fledgling assassin?" Picardo asked. "Henry Elliott?"

Henry had escaped death in the immediate aftermath of his shooting President Coin only because no one else in the conference room had been armed. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that his blood would have joined Coin's on the conference room floor if anyone present had been carrying a gun. I suppose it was strange – District Thirteen, the military district, had no one immediately available to counter Henry's violence on an equal basis – but there just didn't seem to be a need, so deep inside the district, for anyone other than those whose duties specified being under arms - guard duty, for example - to be armed. He had escaped with only minor bruises…although, once he shot Coin, he had shown no interest in shooting anyone else.

"Henry is a different story," Aurelius replied. "He's carried feelings of inadequacy, resentment, and hatred towards his Aunt Alma for years. He's blamed her for everything in his life that has gone wrong. Feelings of persecution –"

"Persecution?" I said in amazement. "By whom?"

Aurelius shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Coin, Boggs, Zander – anyone in authority would do. But Alma Coin was always his focus."

I glanced at Picardo. "How is she doing, by the way?"

"The same," he replied grimly. "The bullets did tremendous damage. She's been in a coma since her first emergency surgery."

"Will she…I mean, is she going to –" I stammered.

"We've done all we can," Picardo said. "And I don't think it was enough."

I didn't like Alma Coin. She may not smell of blood and roses, but her actions were, in many instances, so like President Snow's that I often wondered to myself exactly whose side she was on, and if things would really change for the better once Snow had been forced from power. There was no doubt that Alma Coin enjoyed power and was eager to expand her authority outside District Thirteen to all Panem.

Now, it seemed, she would never get that opportunity.

"How long, do you think?" Aurelius asked softly.

It was Picardo's turn to shrug. "I'm no cardiac surgeon, but she's alive now courtesy of the best District Thirteen medical technology available." He let out a humorless chuckle. "She has machines breathing for her, and machines pumping her blood." He sighed heavily. "In the Capitol she would have already had an artificial heart placed in her chest - if she hadn't had a new heart grown for her and busy pumping blood less than a day after being shot."

At that moment, the nurse and the technician walked out of the room. "We're through, Doctor," the nurse said to Aurelius.

"Fine," Aurelius replied absently. "Please inform your relief to keep me up-to-date."

"I will."

We waited until the nurse and the technician were out of sight. "I need to go," I announced reluctantly. "Plutarch wants to speak to me about some idea he has."

Aurelius nodded. "I'll make sure you're kept updated. You and Katniss both."

I gave Aurelius a small smile. "Thanks."

"I'll walk with you," Picardo said as I turned to leave.

I wondered about Picardo's sudden desire to walk with me. After all, he wasn't the most social person that I've ever met. I didn't have to wonder for long, though.

"Tell me, young Victor," he said quietly as we walked. "Is it worth it?"

"Is what worth it?" I asked, confused.

Picardo jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Your friend Primrose, and your almost-friend Sperantia, laying, heavily sedated, in hospital beds in this rabbit warren of a district."

I didn't immediately answer. _Was_ it worth it? Thousands had died in the Rebellion, on both sides – including friends and family. I had never really stopped to think about what Picardo had asked. The cost had been high. But, with Prim and Speri now casualties of the war, had the cost suddenly become _too_ high?

"Look at yourself," Picardo continued. "Surviving the Third Quarter Quell. Losing a leg. Captured, abused, and tortured by the Capitol. Literally hours away from your own execution. And yet, you go doggedly on with your noble cause."

"You wouldn't understand," I finally muttered.

Picardo smiled grimly. "You forget, I was there when the opening shots of this war were fired. There I was, a reluctant participant, given a choice between cooperation with the Rebels – or death. _That_ choice was easy. I am, after all, rather fond of my own skin." He paused for a moment. "But now…now it's different somehow." He shook his head. "I've seen too much death on both sides. Too many lives forever altered by this war. Primrose and Sperantia will recover from their physical wounds – but what of their unseen injuries? _Those_ they will carry for their entire lives, just as you and the other Victors do. That is too high a price for them to pay."

"What are you saying?" I asked. "That we should have just gone along with the way things were? With people in the districts starving and being worked to death? That, Doctor, is not living. That's existing while waiting to die."

"You sound like Cashmere," Picardo replied ruefully. "I was shocked that a Capitol favorite such as herself would have such strong sentiments against the hand that fed her."

"Her brother died protecting Prim," I pointed out.

"True," Picardo murmured. "You're right. I don't understand. And I doubt that I ever will."

We reached a bank of elevators. I punched the call button and waited for the elevator to respond to the call. While waiting, I turned back to Picardo. "Why tell me all this?" I asked.

"I wanted to understand what motivates you," he replied. "And, to tell you that I intend to give up the practice of medicine once this war is over."

"What?" I asked in amazement.

The elevator clanged to a stop. "I never again want to see another broken body. Nor do I wish to witness another broken mind." He nodded towards the elevator. "You had best be going to your appointment with Mr. Heavensbee," he added. "And I'll go back to my duties – and dream of the day when they will no longer be required."

As the elevator began to move, I caught one last glimpse of Dr. Picardo, striding back to the hospital. It was somehow humbling to discover that a man as aloof and detached as Picardo could be affected by the Rebellion to such an extent that he wanted to quit medicine once the war was over. I had always looked at him as a picture of quiet strength. It made me wonder how much longer I could go on, if Picardo was teetering on the breaking point himself.

I already knew the answer, though. _I'll go on as long as I need to. For myself. For Prim, Speri, and all the others._

 _But most of all – for Katniss._

 **PART II**

"This is what I propose," Plutarch Heavensbee began. "It's become obvious that field propos still pose too much of a risk to you and Katniss. You two are a target for Snow every time you set foot outside Thirteen. So, we eliminate the risk, and still keep you and Katniss visible to the people of Panem."

I leaned forward. "How?"

Plutarch glanced to his left. "Fulvia?"

I winced inwardly. Of course, I had noticed Plutarch's assistant, Fulvia Cardew, sitting at the table when I entered the room. I had also hoped that she was there to simply feed Plutarch information, should he need it, or to take detailed notes on the meeting for Plutarch's later review. Now, however, it appeared that she was there to be an active participant. And Fulvia, for all the value that Plutarch placed on her, had a personality that grated on just about everyone _not_ named Plutarch Heavensbee.

"It's simple, really," Fulvia said. "And a logical progression from the field propos. We put you in the studio, right here in Thirteen. Zero risk to you, Katniss, or anyone else. My working title is 'The Peeta Show'."

"Wait a minute," I sputtered. "You're calling it 'The _Peeta_ Show'? That's the best you could come up with?"

"It's a working title only," Plutarch explained. "Of course, we'll come up with something more appropriate."

"With you as the host," Fulvia continued. "Our goal is to make you the anti-Caesar Flickerman."

Caesar Flickerman. The most recognizable face of the Hunger Games. Caesar, along with Claudius Templesmith, had been a commentator during the Tribute Parade. He had announced the scores of each Tribute once their training had been completed. He had interviewed the Tributes before a huge live audience the night before the Hunger Games began. He had provided play-by-play commentary during the Games. And, finally, he had interviewed the Victors once the Games were over.

"The anti-Flickerman," I mused. "So, I'm to, what – talk?"

"Exactly," Fulvia replied enthusiastically. "But not just talk. You get others to talk – about the Rebellion, about what a free Panem means to them, about what the end of the Hunger Games means to them."

"Talk," I repeated. "Like Caesar? I can't do what he does."

"We don't want you to," Plutarch said. "Look, I know Caesar quite well. His job was to sell the Games. Your job will be to simply show the cost of what decades of Capitol rule has done to Panem."

"What do you mean, 'sell the Games?'" I asked. No one in the districts, with the possible exceptions of the Careers, ever bought into the whole "bringing honor to your district" propaganda that had been continually spewed at us.

"Oh, not to the districts," Plutarch explained. "He sold the Games to the Capitolites."

That didn't make sense. The Capitol loved the Games. "You lost me," I muttered in confusion.

"Originally, the Games were intended as punishment to the districts for the First Rebellion and the Dark Days," Plutarch explained. "Their meaning – and the reason for holding them – would be lost after a couple of generations. So, they evolved from a mechanism of punishment to the entertainment spectacle that you knew them as. And it was Caesar's job to keep them popular – and to ensure that the Capitol supported them."

"So, I'm not to 'sell' anything," I said. "I'm just to talk. About what?"

"Get Katniss to talk about her love for her sister," Fulvia said enthusiastically. "How she volunteered for her Games to protect her. She's been carefully marketed to the Rebellion as the Mockingjay. We need to remind everyone exactly what Katniss is fighting for."

"More importantly, we need to record and broadcast interviews with Capitol Rebels," Plutarch added. "Especially Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone. Imagine the impact their words will have on the Capitol – the granddaughter of the president and the daughter of the security minister denouncing the current regime!"

"Of course," I said dryly, "you'll have to wait for Sperantia to be released from the hospital. And there's the matter of Andromeda Snow's condition."

Confusion flickered over Fulvia's face. "I was given to understand that Andromeda Snow was not injured."

"Not physically," I explained. "She's not in the hospital. She is, however, on bedrest in her quarters, under sedation."

Fulvia glanced at Plutarch. "This changes everything. If Andromeda Snow is incapacitated –"

"It's temporary, Fulvia," Plutarch assured her. "She should be available in a few days. Aurelius informed me that she's responding well to the sedation and to his therapy."

"Very well, then," Fulvia replied impatiently. "In that case, Peeta, you will simply start with other Capitol expatriates, like that doctor, for example – Peccary?"

" _Picardo_ ," I corrected irritably. "Dr. Picardo."

"So, Peeta, what do you think?" Plutarch asked hastily, perhaps sensing that Fulvia was getting on my nerves.

"This won't be scripted or anything, right?" I asked.

Plutarch shook his head. "We'll give you a few bullet points to aid in your discussion, but we want everything to be as natural as possible."

"Okay," I said after a moment. "I'm in. When do we start?"

"Right after the double wedding," Plutarch replied.

I glanced at Plutarch in surprise. "You're going ahead with that? After everything that's happened?"

"It was Haymitch's idea," Fulvia explained, somewhat defensively. "Well, Haymitch and Effie. But Finnick and Annie concurred, and Boggs approved it. He even said that it was a good idea – that Thirteen needed a distraction."

"In that case," I said as I stood up, "I have work to do."

"Work?" Fulvia frowned. "I don't understand. We still need to discuss –"

Plutarch silenced her with a wave of his hand. "Go bake your cakes, Peeta," he said, as a hint of humor crept into his voice.

"Thank you, Plutarch," I said as I headed for the door. Once outside the small meeting room, I made a sharp right and made my way to the nearest elevator.

 _Maybe Boggs is right_ , I said to myself as I walked towards the elevators. _A little distraction is probably just what this place needs right now._

* * *

I headed back to my quarters after a quick stop in the kitchen, where I did a quick inventory of on-hand supplies. Once in my quarters, I sat at the table, and, from memory, jotted down a wedding cake recipe that had been popular with other merchants in District Twelve. I felt a few pangs of grief for my father as I wrote – he and I had made this particular cake together several times, and I realized guiltily that I hadn't thought about my father in a long while.

 _The kitchens here sure could use your help, Dad,_ I said to myself as I worked. My father had been a master at coaxing flavor out of the meanest ingredients. Even District Thirteen's hated turnips would have benefitted from his expert attention. The thought of my father working in the kitchens here made me smile.

I was still musing about my father when the door to my quarters slid open. I glanced at the door as Katniss slipped through and quickly shut the door behind her. One look at her face was all it took for me to know that something was seriously wrong.

"Hey," I said softly as I stood up and extended my arms towards Katniss.

Wordlessly, she stepped into my embrace, her arms slipping around my waist as she rested her head against my chest. Katniss was dressed in a simple District Thirteen coverall, which, right now, made her appear small and vulnerable. I held her close for a moment, my hands stroking her back, and waited for her to speak.

I didn't have to wait very long. "It's all my fault," she said softly, her voice quivering. "If I hadn't loaned my jacket to Prim –"

"I know," I murmured. "I heard about that today – that the mutt triggered on your scent."

Katniss laughed bitterly. "I've spent years protecting her, and, in the end, I'm the one that almost gets her killed!"

"Shhhh." I held her closer as her body began to wrack from her pent-up sobs. "There's no way you could have known. No way at all."

"I should have never let her go to Eight," Katniss said miserably. "She doesn't belong in the field."

"Prim is as stubborn as you are, Katniss," I pointed out gently. "There's no way that you would have been able to force her to stay here. She's not the skinny little twelve-year-old that you Volunteered for anymore."

"No," Katniss admitted, "she's not."

"She's smart, and strong, and she's going to be a doctor someday," I continued.

"How can I face her, Peeta?" Katniss turned her tear-stained face up to mine. "She'll find out eventually that it was my jacket that almost got her killed. How could she ever forgive me for that?"

"I'm sure she'll tell you that there's nothing to forgive," I said, hoping that I sounded reassuring.

"It won't matter," Katniss muttered as she buried her face in my chest again. "I won't ever be able to forgive myself."

I didn't reply as I pulled her closer to me. There was nothing I could do or say to convince Katniss that she had nothing to feel guilty for.

That was something that she would have to do on her own.

 **PART III**

I ran into Boggs just outside the Command Conference Room. This was the first high-level conference held since Coin's shooting. I couldn't help but notice that Boggs was very conspicuously armed.

Boggs noticed me looking at the pistol hanging under his left arm. "I saw that refugee from Ten earlier – you know Dalton, right?" I nodded. "He said that me wearing this was akin to closing the barn door _after_ the cows escaped."

"I can see his point," I said. "After all, what are the chances that there's another Henry Elliott running around in here?"

Boggs shrugged. "Before Henry shot Coin, I wouldn't have guessed that he was the mole. Truthfully, I had Zander pegged as our traitor. She's ambitious and more than a bit ruthless when it comes to her career. Now, if there _is_ another mole, and I'm the target, then there's not a lot I can do if he – or she – wants to shoot me. That's why I'm wearing this." Boggs thumped his chest, and I grasped his meaning instantly. He was wearing body armor under his coverall.

"You wearing that pistol does make me wonder if you would have shot Henry," I mused.

Another shrug. "Possibly – no, probably," Boggs replied. "And we wouldn't have been able to interrogate him, and that would have put us behind the curve in determining how he was communicating with the Capitol, and for how long." He gestured towards the door. "Let's go on in. We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

I slid into the vacant seat between Katniss and Beetee as Boggs took over Coin's place at the head of the table. Katniss said nothing as I sat, but gave my hand a quick squeeze under the table. Beetee, on the other hand, merely grunted a greeting, totally preoccupied with an exotic-looking electronic device that rested on the table to his front.

"I'll keep this short," Boggs announced. "First item of business – Acting President. We need to put the matter to a vote."

"Why bother?" Haymitch drawled. "You've been doin' the job ever since Coin got shot."

"I've actually read some of the books you've suggested, Haymitch," Boggs replied dryly. "They have some interesting ideas – democracy, for example. The way I see it, if that's our model for a New Panem, then we ought to practice it here first."

"Let me get this straight," Haymitch said. "You want to run an election campaign…in the middle of a _war_?"

"I'm speaking of selecting an _Acting_ President, to function on President Coin's behalf," Boggs explained. "And, before anyone says anything, Alma Coin is still alive. Therefore, she is the rightful President of District Thirteen as long as she lives."

"And if she dies?" Haymitch asked.

"If she dies," Boggs replied slowly, "we hold a district-wide election – as soon as the war is over."

"Why wait?" Haymitch challenged.

"A general election would be a distraction from the task at hand, Haymitch." Boggs was obviously irritated by Haymitch's questioning; still, he was able to control his voice admirably. "This war is far from over. Once the outcome is settled, and we have peace, we will hold a truly democratic election."

"And if we lose?" Haymitch smirked.

"If we lose, chances are that everyone in this room will be executed in very inventive, bloody ways." Boggs spoke in measured tones, choosing his words carefully. "So that point would be rather moot, don't you think?"

Haymitch's smirk turned into a wide grin. "In that case, I nominate Colonel Boggs as Acting President."

"There's a nomination on the floor," Boggs said. "Will anyone second the nomination?"

Several voices, mine included, shouted in the affirmative. "Are there any other nominations?"

The room fell silent. "In that case, I defer chairing this meeting to Haymitch Abernathy."

Surprised, Haymitch shook his head and threw up his hands. "Not me, Boggs," he said emphatically. "No way. This is your meeting,"

"It wouldn't be proper for me to chair a meeting during a vote to see if I am to be installed as Acting President," Boggs said reasonably as he sat down. "Haymitch, the floor is yours."

I stifled a grin of my own as Haymitch, grumbling under his breath, stood up. "Fine," he snapped. "All right. All those in favor of Boggs becoming Acting President, say aye."

A chorus of "ayes" filled the room. "All opposed?"

Silence. "Looks like the 'ayes' have it, Boggs," Haymitch said. "So, I'm turnin' this meeting back over to you."

"One moment." Boggs pointed to a box in the middle of the table. "I asked the department heads of each major department here in Thirteen for their input. In that box are their responses – all twenty-three of them. Haymitch, would you read the department head votes, please?"

Haymitch grumbled under his breath again, but reached out and pulled the box towards him. Opening the box, he withdrew twenty-three sealed envelopes. He tore them open, one by one, and read the name on the card that each envelope contained. Twenty-one cards were for Boggs.

"I guess that makes it official," Haymitch said. " _Now_ can I turn this meeting back over to you?"

Boggs stood up. "Take your seat, Haymitch – and thank you." As Haymitch settled into his chair, Boggs said, "All right. First order of business. What do we do with the District Eight mutt-handler and Henry Elliott?"

"Why are we discussing this?" Major Silenus Festuca spoke for the first time. "Take 'em both Topside and execute them both."

Boggs shook his head. "I have another idea. We let them go."

That idea stunned everyone in the room. "You can't be serious," Katniss finally said, her voice shaking with anger as she jumped to her feet. "That son of a bitch almost killed my _sister_!"

"We take them both Topside and let them go," Boggs continued, as if he didn't hear Katniss. "We need to show Panem that our solution to every problem will not be to conduct an execution."

Katniss shook her head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this," she muttered. "One is a murderer. The other an assassin. And your solution is to _let them go_?"

"Technically, Henry is a would-be assassin," Plutarch pointed out. "As President Coin is still –"

"I don't _care_!" Katniss shouted. "Boggs, if you don't have the stomach for it, then I do. One arrow apiece is all I'll –"

"Soldier Everdeen," Boggs said icily. "Sit down and be silent."

Katniss stopped talking in mid-sentence, glared at Boggs for a moment, and finally sank into her chair. "I am in command here," Boggs continued firmly as Katniss sat down. "It's not a job I sought, but I accept the responsibility willingly. I don't want, nor do I expect, anyone here to address me as 'President.' I do, however, expect to be addressed as Colonel and shown the respect due to my rank and position. And I will not allow nor will I tolerate meetings of the senior staff to degenerate into shouting matches." He looked pointedly at Katniss as he said that last. "Is that clear?"

"Very clear," Katniss finally muttered, before adding a belated, "sir."

"In that case," Boggs said. "Let's move on – yes, Major?"

Major Zander stood up. "Respectfully, Colonel, I would like to make a point regarding the punishment for the District Eight attacker and Henry Elliott."

Boggs eyed her warily. "And your point is, Major?"

"I think I see what your intentions are with this unusual form of punishment," Zander continued. "Releasing these criminals into the wilds is, in effect, condemning both to death – although one will be dead from radiation poisoning soon enough anyway."

"Genius," murmured Plutarch. "From a propo standpoint, anyway. Banishment into the wilds will demonstrate that the authority in District Thirteen is willing to give even murderers and would-be murderers a fighting chance."

"Unless the plan backfires." Silenus Festuca spoke for the first time. "What happens if Elliott survives the banishment?"

"Henry Elliott has received only the most basic, rudimentary military training," Boggs explained. "Unless he was secretly practicing survival techniques on his own, his chances of lasting more than a few days are, at best, slim."

"When would this banishment take place?" Festuca asked.

"Tomorrow morning, at dawn," Boggs replied. He glanced around the room. "Unless anyone still has any objections." His eyes flickered over me and landed squarely on Katniss. "Soldier Everdeen?"

Katniss took a deep breath. "No. No, sir. I have no objection. I just have one request."

"What would that be?" Boggs asked.

"I would like to be included in the party that escorts them Topside," Katniss said. "I want that bastard to know that he missed his target. Let him spend his final days knowing that he failed."

I nodded slightly. The would-be assassin had never been told that Katniss wasn't among his victims. I was sure that seeing Katniss among the living would most likely shred was little was left of his sanity.

"You may go," Boggs said, "under one condition."

"Which is?" Katniss asked, belatedly adding, "sir?"

"You are not to be armed," Boggs said firmly. "And that means not so much as a pocket knife. I don't want you succumbing to temptation."

"Agreed," Katniss said with a nod. "Sir."

I hid a smile behind a hand raised to shield a phony cough. Katniss was learning – slowly but surely.

"Good," Boggs glanced at Jackson, who was sitting near the head of the table. "Lieutenant Jackson, you will oversee the transfer of the prisoners Topside. Make sure you coordinate with Soldier Everdeen."

"Yes, sir," Jackson replied succinctly.

"Mr. Heavensbee, I assume that you would like to have a camera crew on hand as well?" Boggs continued.

Plutarch nodded. "Indeed, I would."

"Coordinate with Lieutenant Jackson," Boggs instructed. "Now, to our next agenda item: Henry Elliott's communicator."

"That's my cue," Beetee murmured, so softly that I was just able to hear him. Raising his voice, he said, "Colonel, I must admit, I am impressed with the technology that went into creating this device."

The device that Beetee was referring to was sitting on the table to his front. "What have you learned?" Boggs asked.

"It's short-ranged," Beetee replied. "No more than ten kilometers. It would have to be low-powered, of course – otherwise routine electronic countermeasures would have detected it long ago. The trade-off there, of course, is range. Low-powered transmitters have a limited range."

"Yet, Henry Elliott was able to communicate with the Capitol." Boggs' comment was both a statement and a question.

"That's the genius behind this device," Beetee said. "This transmitter would locate a much stronger carrier wave and attach itself to that wave. It would then 'ride' that wave all the way to its intended recipient." Beetee picked up the device and cradled it almost lovingly in his hands. "I must admit that I'm more than a little jealous. The workmanship here is extraordinary."

"Are you trying to say that there was a carrier wave that originated, here, in Thirteen?" Jackson asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice.

"Indeed, Lieutenant," Beetee replied. "In fact, that same carrier wave is currently transmitting."

"The Capitol link," Boggs muttered.

"Exactly," Beetee said with a nod. "This link was established over seventy-five years ago, in the waning days of the First Rebellion. Then, it was used to hammer out the uneasy truce that existed between Thirteen and the Capitol. Once the terms of the truce had been agreed upon, it remained open and was maintained if instantaneous communication was ever needed between Thirteen and the Capitol."

"And the device was low-powered," Jackson mused. "It would be difficult to detect, as we use so many low-powered, short-range transmitters here."

"Exactly," Beetee agreed.

"The very existence of this transmitter raises another question," Jackson pointed out. "How did Henry Elliott manage to obtain this device?"

Beetee shrugged. "I can't answer that. In fact, I think the only one that can is sitting in a cell on Level Thirty-Nine as we speak."

"We've asked him," Boggs added. "He claims that it was Topside, hidden inside a tree trunk. The clue was left in the form of a note left inside his quarters. He has no idea who left the note…just that it happened 'years' ago."

"Perhaps using a truth agent would jog his memory," Plutarch suggested.

"He gave us that information while _under_ the influence of a truth agent," Boggs replied. "Look, these are questions that I would like answers to. Right now, we simply don't have the assets to investigate this matter thoroughly."

"Beetee, just how thoroughly have you tested this device?" Jackson asked.

"I've powered it up and performed some routine tests as to its range, and, of course, I discovered that it could latch onto a stronger carrier wave," Beetee explained. "But I haven't transmitted."

"As far as Snow and the Capitol are concerned," Boggs added, "Henry Elliott is still their mole. And we would like to keep them thinking that for a while."

"Snow will put two-and-two together once he learns that Coin is no longer communicating with the other Rebel districts," Haymitch pointed out.

"All he will know is that President Coin is incapacitated," Boggs explained. "He won't know why, or for how long."

Haymitch stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Are you intendin' on givin' Snow a call on that thing?"

Boggs nodded. "Eventually. Right now, however, we have other, more immediate matters to settle."

Haymitch's eyes narrowed in suspicion when he caught the glint in Boggs' eyes. "Such as?" he asked warily.

"Oh, don't be so _dense_ , Haymitch!" Effie all but trilled. "The Colonel is talking about our wedding – isn't that right, Colonel?"

Boggs grinned. "Indeed, I am, Miss Trinket," he replied. "Mr. Heavensbee? Care to fill us in on the details?"

As Plutarch spoke, it became very apparent to me that I didn't have much time to bake that wedding cake.

 **PART IV**

Weddings in District Twelve had always been simple affairs. The betrothed couple would sign a marriage contract in the Justice Building, where they would be assigned housing. Afterwards, the newlyweds would have a "toasting," usually witnessed by close friends and family, where they would each symbolically toast a piece of bread over a fire. The bride and groom would then feed the other with the bread they just toasted, sealing their commitment to each other. If they could afford it, the toasting ceremony would be followed by a party for their guests, complete with cake and possibly even dinner. It didn't matter where in Twelve you lived – Merchant and Seam both practiced the same ceremony.

I was surprised to learn that weddings in District Thirteen were very similar to District Twelve weddings, in that the couple would sign a marriage contract and would be assigned quarters. The similarities stopped there. There was no toasting, no party, and certainly no cake.

Plutarch Heavensbee changed all that.

I know that Plutarch was secretly disappointed that Katniss and I wouldn't cave to his subtle pressure for a triple wedding. He was, however, ecstatic at the idea of broadcasting the nuptials between Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket. "The Capitol Girl and the Coal Miner," he called them – which, in Haymitch's case, was not entirely accurate. True, he had been Seam-born, but he had never worked a day of his life in the mines. Still, I understood what he was trying to do here. Plutarch wanted to show all Panem that love was possible between district-born and Capitol-born – and that would be important in a unified, post-war world.

President Alma Coin had grudgingly consented to allowing the unprecedented expenditure of assets to make this double wedding the media extravaganza that Plutarch wanted. Acting President Boggs asked Plutarch if he had all the assets that he needed to make this spectacle the success that Plutarch had assured him it would be. And that was the difference between Coin and Boggs – Coin had never ventured outside Thirteen, where Boggs had seen several different districts, and their people. Boggs had come to understand, as well as Plutarch himself, the necessity of winning the war of information.

However, the double wedding would not be the first, or even the second, official act presided over by Acting President Boggs. The first would be the banishment of Henry Elliott and the District Eight attacker. And my presence at this event was ordered by Boggs – as an official witness.

* * *

My breath hung in white clouds over my head as Katniss and I stood near the exit and waited for the prisoners and their escort to emerge. We weren't alone, of course – our security squad was keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings, and Messalla, along with Castor, Pollux, and Lavinia, was on-hand to record the banishment for posterity. And it was plain that everyone was as cold as Katniss and I were.

The temperature was well below freezing. I didn't see how either prisoner would survive even a single night in weather this cold. "Those two will both be dead by tomorrow morning, as cold as it is," I remarked to Katniss.

Katniss shrugged. "Tough shit."

"Maybe a firing squad would have been more…appropriate," I continued. "Or even hanging."

Katniss shook her head. "No. Let them both think about what they've done. Any other way is too quick." She shivered slightly and her small frame seemed to tuck itself even further into her parka. "Damn Jackson anyway," Katniss muttered. "Not letting me be part of the escort."

I knew why, and I said nothing. Jackson wanted to limit Katniss's contact with the District Eight attacker. Jackson felt, and with good reason, that Katniss wouldn't be able to resist taunting the man on the way Topside. And an agitated prisoner would be more difficult to move efficiently.

"What's the hold-up?" Katniss muttered. "They should've been out here by now."

"I don't know," I replied. I glanced over at Messalla. "Did you hear anything, Messalla?" I called out. "It's past dawn. They were supposed to be out here at dawn."

"I haven't heard anything," Messalla said. He glanced down at his commicuff. "Do you want me to call Plutarch?"

Before I could reply, there was the sound of a heavy bolt being thrown, followed by the squealing of the heavy blast door slowly swinging open on its hinges. Castor immediately turned his camera towards the door as Pollux focused on Katniss and myself. I felt Katniss stiffen slightly as figures began to emerge from the exit…first a pair of soldiers, followed by two men – both hobbled by shackles and chains, each under the direct escort of a soldier – and two more soldiers, with Lieutenant Jackson bringing up the rear.

"Easy," I whispered to Katniss. as the prisoners blinked rapidly in the bright sunlight, their eyes adjusting from the gloom that they had just emerged from. Unlike their escort, the two prisoners were clad only in standard District Thirteen coveralls. I could see both men begin to shiver as the cold penetrated the thin fabric.

The party shuffled forward until everyone was clear of the exit. As the door swung shut behind them, Jackson stopped and issued a single command. "Halt."

Katniss and I stepped forward. Katniss's attention was focused entirely on the District Eight attacker, who was now returning Katniss's stare uncomprehendingly, and a look of disbelief crept over his face.

"No," he croaked. "No. It _can't_ be. You're dead. I killed you myself!"

Katniss stopped directly in front of the man. "You missed," she snarled. "I wanted you to know that, you slimy son-of-a-bitch!"

"No," the man whispered again. " _NO!_ "

"You failed," Katniss continued mercilessly. "Snow knows you failed. You're no hero. Just another of Snow's failures."

The man looked stricken. He was dying from radiation poisoning – he was well aware of this fact – but seemed, up to now, to accept his impending death stoically. Perhaps, in his mind, he could see the monuments that President Coriolanus Snow would build to honor his memory. And now, Katniss had effectively destroyed that fantasy.

In contrast to the exchange taking place between Katniss and the District Eight attacker, Henry Elliott stood quietly, his eyes downcast, as he awaited his punishment. I caught Jackson's eye and motioned her over, even as Katniss unleashed a new torrent of taunts on the now-sobbing mutt-handler.

"Where's Boggs?" I whispered as Jackson stepped close.

"Something came up," Jackson murmured. "Coin died less than an hour ago. He was called away to the hospital." She held up a folder. "He signed the orders for both Henry and the mutt-handler, banishing them from District Thirteen, just before he went down to medical." Jackson looked me in the eye, her expression grim. "Peeta, not a word about Coin to anyone. Not even Katniss. Boggs is going to make an official announcement in an hour or so."

Coin was dead. The news had been more-or-less expected, of course, but it was still somewhat shocking to hear it delivered so bluntly. "I'm sorry," I said quietly, so only Jackson could hear. "She was your president for many years. This must be difficult."

"It's war," Jackson replied flatly. "And President Coin _was_ a soldier. And in war, soldiers die." She took a deep breath, turned, and said loudly, "All right. Let's get on with this."

I pulled Katniss away from the District Eight attacker. To my surprise, she went willingly. It seemed to me that her tirade had drained her of the hate and anger that she had been bottling up. Together, we stood and listened as Jackson quickly read the banishment orders. Henry Elliott finally raised his head as Jackson announced his punishment, and the implication of what it entailed finally registered with him.

"Do either of you wish to say anything before sentence is carried out?" Jackson asked as she closed the folder.

"I failed," the mutt-handler sobbed miserably. He looked on the verge of collapse. It took two escorts to keep him upright.

"I have one request," Henry managed to croak in a hoarse voice. "Kill me. Right here and now. Please don't leave me out here to freeze to death or die of starvation."

"Request denied," Jackson replied brusquely. She turned to the escorts. "Unchain them."

The escorts quickly unshackled them, gathered up the chains, and then stepped back. When they were finished, Jackson pointed towards the forest, a couple hundred meters away. "Start walking," she ordered.

"No!" Henry pleaded. "You can't _do_ this! I won't!"

Jackson shrugged. "Suit yourself." She beckoned for us to follow her. "Let's get back inside." To the escorts, she said, "Don't let them follow. If they try, stun them. But they both remain out here."

Quietly, we followed Jackson back into Thirteen. Hours later, I heard that a security detail went Topside, but both Henry and the mutt-handler were nowhere in sight.

Neither man was ever seen again.

 **PART V**

President Alma Coin and Gloss from District One were given the first state funerals in the history of District Thirteen.

Boggs acted quickly. His announcement of President Coin's death also included the information that the state funeral for her, and for Gloss, would be conducted the very next day. The North Hangar was emptied for that very purpose, and the bodies of both Coin and Gloss were placed in makeshift coffins – actually, they had started out as crates for missiles that were mounted on hovercraft – and both coffins lay in state in the hanger until the memorial service.

Boggs had wanted to do the service that same day, but Plutarch had convinced him to wait, so that it could not only be broadcast throughout District Thirteen, but recorded by Messalla and his camera team at the same time. I had to admit that Plutarch had a good idea. Broadcasting the funeral in Capitol-friendly districts, such as One and Two, showing Gloss being honored for his service to the Rebellion, could very well have a positive effect on those districts and swing more of their residents to the Rebel cause.

The service itself was simple. The hangar was packed as Boggs said a few words about both Coin and Gloss, stressing their selfless service to the cause of freedom for all Panem. I'm sure Plutarch wrote the speech, with a generous helping of Effie Trinket sprinkled in. Nonetheless, Boggs delivered it masterfully, and, true to his (and Plutarch's) word, the service took less than fifteen minutes from start to finish. Even Katniss was moved by the ceremony.

Afterwards, Coin was taken to the incinerators. According to Boggs, it was what she wanted. Gloss was buried in a makeshift cemetery, next to Cressida's grave. Several of us took turns hacking out his grave in the frozen earth, including Gloss's sister, Cashmere. There was no lacking for volunteers to help dig, but Katniss announced that Gloss's grave would be dug entirely by other Victors.

"Gloss survived something that only another Victor can truly understand," she had said at the outset. "It's only right that he's laid to rest by other Victors."

It was hard work, with the seven of us – myself, Katniss, Haymitch, Johanna, Cashmere, Finnick, and even frail Annie Cresta – digging, but, like Katniss said, it was only right. Enobaria, still recovering from her blast wounds, was the only Victor that didn't have a hand in digging Gloss's grave. Of course, Plutarch made sure that Gloss's internment was well documented.

Once we were done, we made our way back into District Thirteen – tired, dirty, and dispirited. In the past two days I had been witness to a banishment, and attended my first state funeral. To say that I was in a somber mood was an understatement. And, judging from Katniss's grim expression, she fully shared my mood.

As we walked back to the entrance, I was surprised to feel an arm drape around my shoulder. I glanced to one side to see Cashmere walking between Katniss and I, her other arm draped around Katniss's shoulders. "I just wanted to say thanks to you both," Cashmere murmured as we walked. "You two are okay in my book."

With that, Cashmere dropped her arms and hurried ahead, as if somehow embarrassed by her display of gratitude. Katniss looked at me in confusion, as I sidled next to her and my arm slipped around her shoulders. "What was that all about?" she asked softly.

"Maybe," I replied slowly, "maybe it means that there's hope for us all, after this war is over, anyway."

 **PART VI**

The dual wedding was a resounding success.

Dalton, the refugee from District Ten, ended up presiding over the ceremony. As it turned out, the wedding ceremonies for Districts Four and Ten are very similar, and, as we couldn't really do a proper toasting – open flame was prohibited in quarters here in District Thirteen – Haymitch and Effie had simply opted to allow Dalton to marry them, as well. And it worked out just fine.

Everyone was more than ready to have a reason to celebrate. Once the fishing net had been draped over Finnick and Annie's shoulders, and once Haymitch had slipped a simple gold band around Effie's finger (which, according to her, was the way weddings were done in the Capitol), it was time to party. And party we did!

The cake was a hit. I know the residents of District Thirteen were unaccustomed to sweets, and I noticed more than a few people making a sudden rush for the bathrooms…but these same people helped themselves to a second, and usually smaller, piece. Haymitch and Effie were a hit as well – somehow, they had both managed to hang onto the clothing that they were wearing on the Reaping Day Uprising – and were resplendent in their finery. However, close examination of Haymitch's suit and Effie's dress revealed numerous places where the fabric had been ripped and torn, only to be repaired by Effie's nimble fingers.

Perhaps the most surprising was the appearance of Prim Everdeen, accompanied by Rory Hawthorne, as well as Andromeda Snow, who was escorted by July Barrow. Prim was moving slowly, but Rory was a solicitous partner, and made sure that there was always a chair nearby if she got tired. Andromeda and July were another story, as July was still moving carefully as a result of his still-healing wounds. It was a pleasant surprise to see Andromeda and July together. Andromeda and Prim both showed the emotional effects of their recent ordeal, but July and Rory never left their sides.

There were a few notable absences as well. Sperantia Blackstone was still bedridden, as was Enobaria. I made a mental note to drop by the hospital to visit Sperantia first thing tomorrow. I felt bad for her…unlike Enobaria, who had Jackson to keep her company, Sperantia was all alone.

We even had music to dance to. A few people from District Twelve had somehow managed to rescue fiddles, pipes, and harmonicas from their homes before they evacuated, and were putting their instruments to good use. Soon the floor was filled with dancing couples, and I even managed to coax Katniss onto the floor for a quick turn.

It was during one of these dances that I noticed Katniss's face cloud up as she watched the other couples. I soon discovered the source of her displeasure – Prim and Rory, dancing close, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

"She's too young for that," Katniss muttered as she tried to disengage herself from me. "Peeta, let me go!"

"No," I said firmly. "Leave them be, Katniss. Let them have a little fun. They deserve it."

"I said she's too young!" Katniss insisted. "Look at them…they're dancing way too close."

"Your mother doesn't seem to think so," I pointed out. I nodded my head in Mrs. Everdeen's direction, where she was dancing with one of the doctors from the hospital, and smiling fondly at her youngest daughter.

"I'm still gonna talk to them both," Katniss groused, although she stopped struggling to free herself from my embrace.

"No, you're not," I said firmly. "Rory is a soldier, wounded in action. Not too long ago, Prim was treating radiation victims. Look, they may only be fourteen, but they've both seen…and done…a hell of a lot."

I was spared further argument by Plutarch's sudden appearance. "Katniss," he said with a smile. "And Peeta! Wonderful party, don't you think?"

"I think everyone needed this," I replied. "Don't you think so, Katniss?"

"Yes," Katniss muttered darkly.

Plutarch looked at Katniss sharply. I shook my head slightly. He got the hint and refrained from asking Katniss what was bothering her. What he did say was, "I would like to get together with you first thing tomorrow, Peeta. We need to get 'The Peeta Show' up and running."

"What's 'The Peeta Show?'" Katniss asked.

"I'll explain later," I promised. To Plutarch, I said, "Okay. I have to stop at the hospital first, though."

Plutarch nodded. "Fair enough. Nine o'clock work for you?"

"Sure," I replied. "See you then."

Plutarch moved away quickly, having spotted Boggs in the crowd. "Okay, explain," Katniss insisted. "What's 'The Peeta Show?'"

I quickly outlined Plutarch and Fulvia's idea. "No more field propos," I added at the finish. "Everything's done right here."

"Who are you planning on interviewing first?" Katniss asked. "Not me, I hope."

"I had someone else in mind," I said with a smile, nodding my head at Andromeda Snow. "Come on," I added, grabbing Katniss by her hand. "Let's go see what she has to say about it."

We began to make our way through the crowd to the table where Andromeda and July sat, when we were intercepted by a man in a wheelchair. So focused and intent was the wheelchair-bound figure that Katniss had to nimbly dance out of his way to avoid getting run down.

"Excuse – oh, I'm sorry, Katniss," Beetee Latier said breathlessly. He nodded at me curtly. "Peeta. Have you seen Boggs?"

"He's over there somewhere," I replied, waving my hand in the general direction that Plutarch had taken off in. "What's the matter? Not enjoying the party?"

"I'm not much for social functions," Beetee replied curtly. "I was down in my shop, examining the receiver/transmitter that we found in Henry's quarters, and –"

I could tell that something was really bothering Beetee. I squatted next to his chair as best as my prosthetic leg would allow and looked him in the eye. "What's going on?" I asked softly.

Beetee hesitated for a moment as Katniss squatted next to me. "Beetee?" she added. "Is everything all right?"

Beetee glanced at Katniss, then at me. "The receiver activated tonight," he finally said. "Just a short while ago."

I shrugged. "You've turned it on before."

Beetee shook his head. "You don't understand," he said urgently. "It activated itself. Someone is sending a message to the receiver."

My eyes widened slightly. "You mean –"

"Yes," Beetee said. "Someone in the Capitol is attempting to contact Henry."


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22**

 **PART I**

We all stared at Henry Elliott's Capitol communicator like it was a snake about to strike.

A small red light on top of the unit would blink three times in rapid succession, pause for a few seconds, and then repeat. _Blink-blink-blink. Blink-blink-blink. Blink-blink-blink._ According to Beetee, this was the "incoming message" signal – and the reason why Boggs, Katniss, and I had been pulled so unceremoniously away from the party that was still in full swing just a few levels above us.

Katniss finally asked the obvious question. "How do you know that the flashing red light means that there's an incoming message?"

Beetee held out a small square of laminated paper. "Believe it or not," he replied with a slight smile, "it actually came with an instruction card."

This revelation shattered the tenseness that we were all feeling ever since Beetee's hurried arrival at the party, just a short while ago. We all chuckled at the simplicity of his revelation. Leave it to Beetee to find – and read – the instructions.

"Do those instructions also say how to talk on this thing?" Boggs asked.

Beetee nodded. "Quite simple. Put on the headset –" Beetee extended a pair of earbuds on a long, thin, wire "- and speak into the microphone." He held up the microphone – a small metal button on another length of wire. "The unit is voice-activated. No push-to-talk is required."

Boggs took a deep breath and extended his hand. "Give them to me," he ordered softly. "They're bound to discover that Henry is no longer spying for them. No time like the present to send them that message."

We watched silently as Boggs fitted the buds into his ears and then held the small microphone close to his mouth. "Unidentified station, this is – Colonel Boggs, Security Commander for District Thirteen. Please identify yourself. Over."

We all noticed that Boggs didn't identify himself as "President" Boggs, and we all understood why. No need to give Snow any information about his enemies – including the fact that President Coin was dead.

The rhythmic blinking continued. Boggs repeated his message. "Do you think that it's Snow on the other end?" I asked to no one in particular.

Boggs shook his head. "Unlikely," Beetee murmured. "Any instructions would most likely come from someone in the Ministry of Security, or –" Beetee paused as the blinking light on the communicator suddenly went dark. "That's it," he continued. "The sender broke the connection."

Boggs pulled the earbuds off and handed everything back to Beetee. "I'm not surprised. Whoever was calling was expecting Henry. I wonder," he continued thoughtfully, "just how long it will take for the news to reach President Snow that Henry has obviously been compromised?"

"I can attempt to reestablish the comm link, if you like," Beetee offered.

Boggs shook his head. "No. Let them stew on this for a while." He grinned wolfishly. "Whoever was trying to contact Henry is, as Haymitch would say, 'as bound up as a possum shittin' peach pits.'"

We all chuckled at Boggs' imitation of what we all thought of as Haymitch's "down-home" accent. When Haymitch was very tired or very agitated his District Twelve accent was pronounced. Come to think of it, he used it a lot when dealing with President Coin. Of course, Boggs' mention of Haymitch reminded us all of exactly where we had been just a short time before.

"We should be getting back," Boggs said. He turned to Beetee. "Why don't you join us? I doubt if you'll be getting another call tonight."

"If it's all the same to you," Beetee replied, "I would rather not. I've never been a fan of social functions." He grinned ruefully. "My Victory Tour was a social disaster. I was voted 'Dullest Victor' in a poll taken by none other than Caesar Flickerman. No, I'll stay here, if you don't mind."

"We'll bring you some cake later," Katniss promised as the rest of us headed for the door. "It's delicious. Peeta made it."

"Now that," Beetee said with a wide smile, "I will gladly accept."

 **PART II**

 _Minister Quintus Blackstone was seated in the rear of his personal limousine, enroute from the Presidential Palace back to his office, when his phone began to ring insistently._

 _Blackstone muttered a curse under his breath and opened his eyes. He had really been looking forward to a quick ten-minute power nap on the ride back to the Security Ministry. He was, he figured, about six weeks behind on sleep. He squinted as he held up his phone and read the caller identification on the screen of his phone. "Comm center," he muttered, as he pushed the ACCEPT CALL button. "What the hell do they want?"_

" _Blackstone," he barked. There was no need to hold the phone to his ear. Blackstone had also activated the phone's "Speaker" function when he had accepted the call._

" _Minister," the tinny voice said, haltingly. "this is the Comm Duty Officer. I – I don't know exactly how to say this, sir –"_

" _One and two syllable words seem to achieve the best results," Blackstone said sarcastically. "Get to the point."_

" _Sir, we just attempted contact with our operative in District Thirteen," the duty officer continued. "For the monthly status update. It's a routine call that we make to verify that communications are still up. But –"_

" _Captain, you are interrupting what appeared to be a promising power nap," Blackstone snapped. "I know what the monthly status update is. Do what you normally do. Summarize the report and I'll look at it tomorrow morning."_

" _Lieutenant, sir," the duty officer automatically corrected. "Minister, I'm trying to tell you that our District Thirteen operative didn't respond. Someone else did."_

 _Blackstone sat bolt upright, now wide awake. "Stand by," he ordered. Quickly he raised the barrier between the back seat, where he sat, and the driver, and then activated a "white noise" generator, designed to defeat any listening devices that may have been placed in his car. Finally, not taking any chances, Blackstone deactivated the speaker function and raised the phone to his ear. "All right," he said softly. "Make your report."_

 _The duty officer's report was brief and to the point. "What was that name again, Lieutenant?" Blackstone asked softly._

" _Boggs, sir._ Colonel _Boggs." The duty officer paused before continuing. "He identified himself as the District Thirteen 'Security Commander.'"_

So, _Blackstone thought,_ the District Thirteen operative has been compromised. _"Have you reported this to anyone else?"_

" _No, sir."_

" _Good." Blackstone thought quickly._ I have a line of communication with District Thirteen. I just need to be very careful how I use it. _"I'll take care of briefing the President personally. Now, I want a comm link in my office, so I directly monitor events as they happen in District Thirteen." When the duty officer didn't respond immediately, Blackstone added, "Do this and I'll personally see that you are a Captain by tomorrow evening."_

" _Yes, sir," the duty officer immediately replied, and then added, "Uhh, Minister, I only have one available comm tech that can do that job, and she's troubleshooting some glitch between the Security Ministry and Launch Control. The earliest that I can get her to your job will probably be sometime after midnight."_

 _Blackstone cursed under his breath._ Of course, there's a glitch, _he said to himself._ Antonius and I are responsible for its presence. _Ever since President Snow had ordered another nuclear strike – this time on targets inside District Ten – both Minister Blackstone and Praetor Antonius had been stalling, inventing one plausible excuse after another to avoid launching another attack. Thus far, they had been successful – casting most of the blame on the scarcity of hardware and spare parts from District Three._ What's done is done. It appears that Antonius and I were _too_ effective.

" _After midnight is fine, Lieutenant," Blackstone said. "Just see to it that it's operational by tomorrow morning. And, I don't think I need to remind you to keep your mouth shut about this development."_

" _No, sir, you don't," the duty officer replied sincerely._

" _Excellent," Blackstone said. "Outstanding work, Lieutenant." Blackstone stabbed the "END CALL" button with his finger, sat back, and stared thoughtfully at his phone._ First order of business, _he said to himself,_ is to discover exactly who this "Colonel Boggs" is. The second order of business is to ascertain just how amenable Colonel Boggs would be to opening lines of communication with certain high-placed Ministers in President Coriolanus Snow's cabinet.

* * *

 _As it turned out, there was very little information available regarding the mysterious Colonel Boggs._

 _Blackstone leaned forward and examined the classified document that was displayed on his computer screen._ Boggs _, read the name._ Possible first name Richard or Rickard. Duty Assignment: Senior Military/Security Officer for District 13. No photo available. _Blackstone sighed and closed the digital file._ We've had an operative in Thirteen for how many years and that was the best information that he could get to us? Well, at least I know that this "Colonel Boggs" exists.

 _The intercom on Blackstone's desk beeped insistently. Without taking his concentration away from his computer, he reached over and stabbed at the intercom with his finger. "Yes?"_

" _Minister, Praetor Antonius is here."_

" _Send him in."_

 _Blackstone glanced up as Praetor Antonius strode into his office, wearing the full regalia of his position as the top-ranking Peacekeeper in Panem. "I must say, Antonius," Blackstone commented wryly, "you look absolutely magnificent."_

 _Antonius dismissed the remark with a wave of his hand as he settled into a chair. "I read once," he said thoughtfully, "that in the days before the Catastrophes, there was a dictator in a far-off land that would execute disloyal generals by blowing them to bits with anti-aircraft guns. Messy, but quick." He paused for a moment. "Our fate will not be as swift, Minister. I've heard rumors that President Snow has Seneca Crane working around the clock developing the latest in killer mutts."_

 _Quintus Blackstone was a consummate politician. Despite the chill that he felt at the Praetor's words, he kept his face impassive. "Is that why you're wearing formal Peacekeeper dress? To look good at your own execution?"_

 _Antonius barked a quick, humorless laugh. "I was in Two, rallying the troops."_

 _Blackstone leaned back in his chair. "Sent by personal command from President Snow, I assume?"_

" _I apologize, Minister." Antonius didn't sound the least bit contrite. "I didn't have the time to notify you before my departure, and we observed radio silence once airborne. It was pure chance that you messaged me right after I landed back here."_

 _Blackstone gestured impatiently. "Reports from Two are spotty, at best. What's really going on there?"_

" _Lyme is dead," Antonius replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "I guess you would call that the good news. President Snow seemed pleased, at any rate."_

" _And the bad news?" Blackstone prompted._

" _Brutus is dead also." Blackstone raised his eyebrows in surprise at this news. "He was apparently killed in the same battle that cost the Rebels the Victor Lyme." Antonius shook his head in disgust. "Brutus had no business leading an attack. He may have been a respected Victor, but he was no general. No knowledge of tactics, no discipline, and no real ability to command troops in combat."_

" _And the Nut?" Blackstone asked._

 _Antonius shrugged. "The Rebels are getting smart. They aren't attacking directly any longer. They're blockading the Nut – nothing comes out, nothing goes in. And it's damn effective."_

" _They're taking hundreds of Peacekeepers out of the fight," Blackstone mused, "without spilling any more blood."_

" _Thousands," Antonius corrected. "And, by the way, I was probably on the last flight out of Two. The Rebels have complete air supremacy in every air space in Panem." Antonius sat back in his chair. "I came here right from the flight line. Your message sounded urgent."_

" _We received a message from District Thirteen today," Blackstone replied without preamble._

 _Antonius shrugged. "I'm not surprised. Isn't our operative there supposed to check in periodically?"_

" _The voice contact was from someone named 'Colonel Boggs,'" Blackstone added bluntly._

 _At this, Antonius sat bolt upright. "So, the operative has been compromised?"_

 _Blackstone nodded. "It would appear so. This Boggs – have you heard of him?"_

 _Antonius nodded. "He heads security in Thirteen, and is also their senior military officer. From what I understand, he's a force to be reckoned with."_

" _He's also our foot in the door, Antonius," Blackstone replied softly "Possibly even to Alma Coin herself."_

 _Antonius glanced around the room anxiously. "Relax," Blackstone assured him. "This room is clean."_

" _So, what's your next move?" Antonius asked softly._

" _My comm people will have a terminal installed here in my office by tomorrow morning," Blackstone explained. "They think I want it to 'monitor events'. I'm going to use it to attempt contact with Thirteen."_

" _And if you should contact Thirteen?"_

" _I'll negotiate," Blackstone replied simply._

" _Isn't that Hammersmith's job?" Antonius asked._

" _Fuck Hammersmith," Blackstone said bluntly. "My daughter is in Thirteen! It's only a matter of time before Snow decides to drop a nuke there."_

" _Speaking of which," Antonius said slowly, "I have to launch by tomorrow. No more delays."_

" _And if you don't launch?"_

 _Antonius dragged one finger slowly across his throat. "What the hell are you going to do?" Blackstone asked quietly._

" _I am launching," Antonius replied deliberately, "one intermediate range missile. Its guidance system will develop a malfunction, and it will pitch itself into an uninhabited stretch of desert."_

" _And the president will still hold you personally responsible for the failure," Blackstone pointed out._

" _Our technicians have been complaining about the state of readiness of the missile arsenal since we received the first order to hit District Eight," Antonius explained patiently. "It seems that electronics near fissionable materials tend to degrade over time, and, you must remember, these missiles are over seventy-five years old."_

" _And you think that President Snow will buy that excuse?"_

" _Yes," Antonius replied. "Especially since the Chief Guidance Technician – who, by the way, will program a set of harmless coordinates into the missile's guidance computer – will be available to attest to that very fact. He is, after all, from District Three originally. He didn't take a lot of convincing on my part to cooperate."_

" _I see." Antonius looked thoughtful. "When do you plan on attempting contact?"_

" _After the failed missile attack," Blackstone said._

" _I think," Antonius said slowly, "that I may have to revise my first estimate of our life expectancy, Blackstone. With luck, we may both survive to see this war end."_

 **PART III**

If I closed my eyes, I could well imagine that I was being prepped for a Victory Tour interview.

Katniss's Prep Team fluttered around me, applying final touches of make-up. I could feel myself sweating under the hot lights of the studio. There was a continual soft murmur of voices as the technicians that operated the cameras, sound, and lights completed their final preparations. All that was missing was the presence of Cressida to gently guide me through the worst of the interview before I was to make my way to the formal presentation with the district mayor.

Plutarch Heavensbee's voice brought me back to reality. "Peeta? Any questions?"

I glanced over at Plutarch, who was hovering nervously nearby. "I'm good, Plutarch. Read the questions on the teleprompter, and let the answers dictate the direction of the conversation."

"Good." Plutarch turned towards Cinna. "What do you think?"

Cinna gave me a wink and a quick smile. "I think he looks great."

"Don't worry, kid," Haymitch added. "You look natural."

"Sixty seconds," someone shouted.

"All right," Plutarch snapped, his nervousness gone. "Let's clear the set." To me he added, "Remember, introductions, and then we send out the first guest."

"Got it," I replied as I squirmed around in my chair, trying to find the most comfortable position. The director was stationed near the largest camera, and I watched her as she held up both hands, fingers splayed, and folded each finger down as she counted backwards from ten. When she reached zero, she pointed her index finger at me and the red light on the camera suddenly blinked on.

I gazed directly into the camera, smiled, and said, "Hello. This is Peeta Mellark, broadcasting from District Thirteen, and this is Panem United – where only the truth matters."

* * *

"Thanks for agreeing to talk to us today," I said, as my first guest settled into the chair next to mine. "Please tell our audience your name."

"Sperantia Blackstone," Speri mumbled.

I leaned forward. "I'm sorry, could you speak up a bit?"

"Sperantia Blackstone!" Speri almost shouted. Her eyes shifted around nervously when she realized how loud she was. "Sorry," she added, quietly.

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "No apologies necessary. Can you tell everyone where you're from originally?"

"I was born in the Capitol," Speri replied. "My father is Quintus Blackstone, Minister of Security for Panem."

"And how did you end up here in District Thirteen?"

Speri smiled very slightly. "It wasn't my idea. I was forced."

"I remember that," I said. "I was there that night. You weren't too happy about coming here, were you?"

Speri shook her head. "No. Not at first."

"How were you treated?"

"I was locked up," Speri explained, haltingly. "There's a prison here in District Thirteen. On Level Thirty-Nine. That's where I was locked up."

"And how about now?"

"I work in the hospital, and I'm not locked up any more."

I leaned forward. "What changed for you?"

Speri took a deep breath. "In the hospital – there's a lot of hurt people. People who've been shot, or bombed. People missing arms, missing legs. People hurt fighting the Capitol."

"And that made you change?"

Speri shook her head. "Not at first. I figured that they wanted to use me for propaganda, like they did with my best friend Andromeda."

"Tell me about Andromeda," I prompted.

"Andromeda Snow," Speri replied. "We've been best friends forever. When I found out that she was helping the Rebels, I tried to stop her, and ended up here instead."

"Andromeda has a very recognizable last name," I said.

Speri nodded. "Yes. Her grandfather is President Coriolanus Snow."

"That must have been a shock to you, finding out that she was a Rebel," I prompted.

"It was," Speri admitted.

"And how did it make you feel?"

Speri took a deep breath. "Angry. Angry and hurt."

"You felt betrayed by her." It was a statement, not a question.

Speri nodded. "Yes," she almost whispered. "I – I even tried to hate her. I thought she was a traitor."

"But you don't hate her now, do you?"

Speri shook her head. "No. No matter how much I wanted to, deep inside I couldn't."

"I would like to talk about you for a bit," I said. "Your father is the Minister of Security. After President Snow, he's considered to be the most powerful man in the Capitol. And, from everything that I've heard, you were a hardcore Loyalist – completely supportive of both President Snow and his government."

"I was," Speri admitted.

"How about now?" I asked gently.

"I want what's best for Panem," Speri replied.

"Panem?" I asked. "By that you mean the districts? Not the Capitol?"

She shook her head. "No. For everyone."

"You mentioned earlier that working in the hospital helped you change your feelings towards the Rebellion," I said. "Was there anything else?"

Speri nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes."

"What was it?" I asked softly.

Speri clumsily wiped at her eyes with the balls of her hands. "A little girl. In District Eight. Her name was Calico."

"Tell us about her," I prompted. "For everyone viewing that may not know the story."

Speri squeezed her eyes shut for a moment at the memory of the little girl. "She was from District Eight. She came to the Refugee Center with her parents after the nuclear bomb was dropped there." A tear trickled down each cheek. "Calico and her parents were sick. They came to us for help. She was scared so I talked with her and tried to make her less frightened."

"Can you tell us what happened to her?" I asked.

Speri choked back a sob. "She's dead."

"I know this has been painful for you," I said gently. "She died during the assassination attempt on Katniss Everdeen. I was nearby when it happened. I have just one more question, if you're up to answering."

Speri nodded, even as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue that I handed her. "Okay."

"How did Calico's death affect you?" I asked.

Speri straightened up and gazed directly into the main camera. "I grew up watching the Games every year. I watched kids die every year until only one was left. But to me it never felt _real_." She paused for a moment and dabbed at her eyes again. "But Calico…she never did anything to anyone. She wasn't a Tribute, selected at a Reaping. She was just a scared little girl."

"It's different when someone you care about dies in front of you, isn't it?" I asked quietly.

"Yes," Speri whispered. "And it made me understand something. All the Tributes were scared. Even the Careers, I think. And it made me realize what you and all the other Rebels were fighting for."

"And what's that?"

"You want a place to live where you don't have to be scared anymore," Speri stated, her voice firm. "A place to live, and grow up, where everyone is treated fairly." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I'm just sorry that a little eight-year-old girl had to die to make me see that."

I glanced over at Plutarch, who was making a "wind it up" gesture. "Thank you for sharing that, Speri," I said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "That's all the questions that we have for you."

The red light on the camera winked out. Plutarch wasted no time in stepping forward. "Peeta. Sperantia. That was gold," he gushed. "Sperantia, when the people in the Capitol see you – well, what you said is as powerful as any field propo that we could have made!"

"I only care about two people in the Capitol," Speri replied stiffly. "My mother and father. Will they see it?"

Plutarch nodded. "I'm sure they will. Your father is very highly placed in Snow's government, after all."

"Good." She glanced at me, then back at Plutarch. "I'd like to go now."

"Of course, of course," Plutarch said with a smile.

Speri stood up and turned to go. "Wait," I said as I, too, rose to my feet.

Speri stopped and turned back to face me. "Thank you," I said once more. "I mean it. I know it was hard for you. But people need to know things like what you were talking about. They need to know the truth."

"Will it help?" Speri whispered.

I nodded. "I think it will, yes."

"Then I'm glad I did it," she said, before turning and striding off the soundstage.

"Do you need a break before we have you interview Andromeda?" Plutarch asked.

"Just a minute." I watched as Meda, waiting off-stage, hugged Speri tightly, and then led her to some chairs in the back of the room. "Get someone else, Plutarch."

Fulvia Cardew, who had remained in the background until now, spoke up. "The schedule calls for Andromeda Snow to be next, Peeta," she explained peevishly.

"I don't care," I said firmly as I continued to watch Meda comfort Speri. "Find someone else."

"Give me a few minutes," Plutarch said hastily. "I think I can get either Casca Bishop or possibly Dr. Picardo here." When Fulvia opened her mouth to object, Plutarch added, "Peeta's right about this, Fulvia. We'll do Andromeda on the next show."

I sat back in my chair and allowed the Prep Team to fuss over me while Plutarch made his calls. I found myself smiling. _Plutarch,_ I said to myself, _you have feelings after all. Don't worry, though – your secret is safe with me._

 **PART IV**

I was glad that Plutarch had been able to convince Casca Bishop to step in and take Meda's place. After the raw emotion that had been churned up by Speri's interview, Casca's calm, measured way of speaking allowed all of us to figuratively catch our breath.

Not that Casca wasn't a great subject, of course. He had been a part of Coriolanus Snow's inner circle for years. His stories of the lengths that Snow had gone to remain in power were both amazing and chilling – so much so that Plutarch was talking about bringing him back at some later date for another interview.

I just hoped that all these interviews would actually do some good.

Once the interview with Casca was concluded, we were finished for the day. At least I was. Plutarch still had to edit the Speri/Casca interviews, and Beetee Latier needed to hack into the Capitol's communications network so that we could broadcast the finished product. That left me with something I was unaccustomed to getting here in District Thirteen – free time in the middle of the day.

I headed directly to Weapons Research and Development – what Haymitch called "Beetee's Big Lab" – and found exactly who I was looking for. Katniss was busy putting arrow after arrow into a target fifty meters from her shooting position. I watched her for a few minutes, marveling at her extraordinary ability for probably the thousandth time, before I stepped forward and joined her on the firing line.

"Lethal as always," I joked as I watched her put yet another arrow into what now resembled a pincushion.

"I'm rusty," Katniss muttered, as she nocked another arrow to her bow, drew it back, and released it in a single smooth motion. "Those shot groups are shit." She turned to face me. "So, how did the first 'Peeta Show' go?"

"It's called 'Panem United,'" I corrected automatically. "And it was – tough." I quickly recanted the highlights of my interview with Speri.

Katniss kept her face impassive as she listened. After I was done, all she said was, "I guess Plutarch will want me to be on soon."

I nodded. "Yes. People will want to see – and hear – you, Katniss."

Katniss dropped her gaze. "Baring my soul is something I'm not good at."

"It's what makes it real, though," I said earnestly. "You, talking about all those hard things – your volunteering for Prim, your Victory – and Gale. You need to talk about Gale."

"I think about Gale a lot nowadays," Katniss admitted. "There's a lot of Gale in Rory. I see it whenever Rory is with Prim."

"Katniss," I said carefully, "I know what you're thinking. Rory isn't Gale." Katniss knew what I meant – Gale had developed a reputation for taking willing girls to the slag heap. And, all the while, Gale was doing a damn good job at hiding his true feelings from Katniss.

"I know this," Katniss replied impatiently, "but –"

"But nothing." I grabbed Katniss's shoulders. "Rory loves Prim, and, from what I've seen, the feeling is mutual. I know you feel protective, Katniss – but Prim isn't the scared little girl you volunteered for. She's tough. In a lot of ways, as tough as you."

Katniss allowed herself a small smile. "Tougher."

Before I could say anything else, my commicuff buzzed. "Shit," I muttered. "So much for having a little unscheduled free time." I glanced at the small screen and read the text displayed there. "We're wanted in Command," I said with a frown. "Immediately."

Katniss immediately unstrung her bow. "What do you think is going on?"

I shrugged. "Who knows?" I nodded my head in the direction of her target. "Are you going to leave your arrows?"

Katniss replied with a shrug of her own. "Not like anyone's gonna steal them. Come on."

* * *

The second Katniss and I entered Command I knew that there was something terribly wrong.

I scanned the assembled group – Boggs, Zander, Jackson, Festuca, Haymitch, and Beetee – before I asked the obvious question. "What happened?"

"Shut the door," Boggs ordered brusquely. The soldier that had let us in nodded and slid the door shut behind Katniss and me. A red light appeared on the panel next to the door. It was securely locked.

Boggs wasted no time as soon as the door was secured. "The Capitol launched another missile. We think it was targeted for District Ten."

"You 'think' it was targeted for Ten?" Festuca asked. "Sir?" he added belatedly.

"Where did it come down, if not Ten?" Beetee asked.

"As near as General Beck was able to tell, the missile strayed off-course somewhere over Ten and impacted an uninhabited stretch of desert in the Wilds south of his position," Boggs replied. "It did not detonate," he added after a moment.

"Beck has his forces on high alert," Major Zander said. "He wants an immediate retaliatory bombing raid on the Capitol."

"Which he will _not_ get," Boggs said firmly. He turned to Beetee. "Any guesses as to why the missile missed its target?"

"There could be a number of factors at play here," Beetee replied slowly. "A guidance computer malfunction seems plausible, given the age of the electronics. However, for the trigger mechanism to fail as well –"

"Wouldn't there be some sort of safety protocol?" Jackson asked. "Something to prevent the warhead from detonating if there was a malfunction elsewhere in the missile?"

Beetee nodded slowly. "Possibly. I know the warheads are not designed to detonate upon impact."

"I thought that's how they worked," I said.

"They are designed to detonate in the air," Beetee explained. "Hundreds – or thousands – of meters up, depending on the size of the warhead." His voice became grim. "The blast effect and the thermal pulse are maximized that way, to cause the greatest amount of destruction."

"How efficient," Katniss muttered sarcastically.

"How difficult would it be," Boggs asked, "to re-program the guidance software to make the missile stray off course?"

Beetee shrugged. "Fairly simple, if the programmer knew what he or she was doing."

"Do you think that's a likely scenario?" Jackson asked. "I mean, the technician would be taking a huge risk."

"We have to examine all the possibilities here," Boggs replied. He glanced at each of us in turn. "I don't have to remind any of you that you are to say nothing about this to anyone?"

"Well, our mouthpiece ain't here," Haymitch drawled. "Otherwise this would be an exclusive on tonight's hacked Capitol broadcast."

"Heavensbee's presence at this meeting was not necessary," Boggs said stiffly, "as it's more important that he finish editing the first installment of 'Panem United.' I have full confidence in his ability to not speak about classified information unless first cleared to do so by me."

The rebuke was obvious to everyone present, but Haymitch still managed to look unfazed. Boggs deftly changed the subject. "Perhaps now would be a good time to try to place a call to the Capitol," he said. He turned towards Beetee, who, I now noticed, had brought Henry Elliott's communications device with him.

"The device is ready," Beetee said. "Although, considering what happened the last time, you probably won't actually talk to anyone."

As it turned out, Beetee was wrong. Even as Boggs was reaching for the earbuds, the light signaling an incoming message began to flash rhythmically.

 **PART V**

 _Security Minister Blackstone carefully locked the door to his office, activated his electronic countermeasures, and waited until his anti-listening device software told him that no one could listen to the conversation that he was about to have. Satisfied, he then activated the communicator on his desk._

 _Blackstone carefully fitted the earbuds to his ears and clipped the microphone to his shirt collar. He hesitated for only a second or two before he leaned forward and pressed the button marked "SEND MESSAGE ALARM." Only then did he sit back, relax – and wait._

* * *

Haymitch was the first to speak. "It would appear," he drawled softly, "that someone in the Capitol has the same idea as you do, Colonel."

"Probably just another low-level technician, expecting to speak to Elliott," Jackson added.

Boggs shook his head. "Not likely. The fact that I answered their last call sent a pretty good message that Henry Elliott would no longer be their 'inside man.'" As he spoke, he quickly fit the earbuds in his ears, and then picked up the microphone.

"Now," Boggs said as he raised the microphone, "let's see if someone answers this time." He placed the mic close to his mouth, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Unidentified station, this is Colonel Boggs, District Thirteen Security Commander. Please respond."

Boggs' eyes widened in surprise when a man's voice replied. "This is Minister Blackstone. I wish to speak with Alma Coin."

Boggs cupped his hand over the mic. "Does this thing have a speaker?"

Beetee nodded. "I take it that you've received a response?" he asked, as he flipped a switch.

Boggs nodded, and then raised the mic to his lips once more. "Minister Blackstone, you won't be able to speak with President Coin." He paused for a moment. "I'm afraid she's dead."

"I see," Blackstone's voice crackled over the speaker. "Very well then. I'll speak to whomever is in charge there."

"You already are," Boggs said dryly. "I'm Acting President, as well as Security Commander."

"A coup?" Blackstone asked. "A Rebellion within a Rebellion, perhaps?"

"An assassination," Boggs replied curtly, bristling slightly at Blackstone's somewhat smug tone. "By her own nephew and personal assistant, Henry Elliott."

"Who?"

"Henry Elliott," Boggs repeated slowly. "Your spy here in Thirteen."

"So that's his name," Blackstone mused. "I only knew him as 'the operative.'"

"Well, your 'operative' is most likely dead now," Boggs snapped. "He was banished, along with the mutt handler that you sent to kill Katniss Everdeen."

"Banished, and not executed outright." Blackstone actually chuckled softly. "And this winter has been exceptionally brutal. Very creative, I must say."

"Minister," Boggs said patiently, "you called me, remember. I assume it wasn't to discuss the merits of banishment over execution."

"You're right," Blackstone replied. "We launched a missile at District Ten earlier today."

"We know," Boggs said tightly. "Fortunately, it missed."

"And failed to detonate," Blackstone added. "I've been told that the electronics in these old missiles are of questionable reliability."

"I guess we were lucky." Boggs caught something in Blackstone's tone, and decided to probe a little. "We probably won't be as lucky the next time."

"According to my technicians, this is a problem with our entire missile arsenal," Blackstone said carefully, and then added, "You are holding my daughter, Sperantia. I would like to speak to her."

"Your daughter is unharmed and is well-treated, Minister," Boggs said assuredly.

"She's probably with Meda right now," I said. "Where exactly, I don't know."

Boggs nodded. "Sperantia is unable to speak with you right now, Minister," he explained. "However, if all goes well, you will be able to see – and hear – her later this evening. She's the featured guest on an interview show that we patterned after Caesar Flickerman's broadcasts."

"You're using her for propaganda?" Blackstone asked, anger tingeing his voice.

"Not 'using,' Minister," Boggs corrected. "She was a more than willing participant – as you'll see for yourself."

"I would still like to speak to her," Blackstone persisted.

"I'll try to arrange for that in our next communication," Boggs said, and then added, "There will be a 'next communication,' I assume?"

"I hope so," Blackstone replied. "I have other matters that I need to discuss with you, President Boggs."

"Just 'Colonel' will do, Minister," Boggs said. "What 'other matters' do you wish to speak to me about?"

Blackstone's voice sounded surprised. "Why, terms, of course."

"Terms?" Boggs asked. "You sound as though you're asking for our surrender."

"On the contrary," Blackstone said slowly. "I wish to discuss what you and I can do, as Ministers of Security, to cease hostilities as soon as possible."

"So, when you mentioned terms –" Boggs began.

"I meant for the Capitol," Blackstone finished. "For our surrender. To your Rebellion."


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23**

 **PART I**

"Hello, Panem," I said as I looked into the camera lens. "This is Peeta Mellark, and I have a special guest with me on this edition of Panem United. I'm very happy to welcome Andromeda Snow to the show." I turned to Andromeda, who was seated to my right, and smiled. "Thank you for being here with us, Meda."

Andromeda returned my smile somewhat nervously. "Thank you for having me," she replied softly.

"Meda," I continued, "I'm sure that the people that view this show – both in the Capitol and in the Districts – will notice that you have a very recognizable last name."

"That's because I'm President Coriolanus Snow's granddaughter," she said matter-of-factly.

"President Snow is the single most powerful man in Panem," I pointed out. "Yet here you are, in District Thirteen, at the very center of the Rebellion. So, would you call yourself a Loyalist, or a Rebel?"

"A Rebel," Meda said, her voice firm.

"How long have you felt this way?" I asked. "More specifically, was there a moment when you thought that your views had more in common with the Rebellion than they did with the Capitol?"

"Yes. When I visited you and Katniss Everdeen in District Twelve."

"I remember that day," I said with a nod. "Could you perhaps tell the people viewing this show about it?"

Meda took a deep breath. "I asked my grandfather if I could meet you and Katniss in District Twelve as a present for my fourteenth birthday." She blushed slightly. "Katniss had been my favorite Victor – that is, until you won the Quarter Quell." She twisted her hands nervously in her lap. "It sounds silly now, but I had a huge crush on you." I had known all this before, of course – but now, Andromeda Snow's schoolgirl crush on Peeta Mellark would be broadcast to the entire nation.

"I don't think it sounds silly at all," I replied sincerely. "It's very flattering, actually." Out of the corner of my eye I could see Plutarch Heavensbee holding up a hand-held electronic note-board. _STAY ON TOPIC!_ "Was this the first time you had met Victors before?"

Meda shook her head. "Oh, no. I'd met lots of Victors. But this was the first time I had ever traveled to a Victor's home district."

"And what did you see in District Twelve?" I asked gently.

"Poverty," Meda all but whispered. "People living in shacks. Skinny from not having enough to eat." She paused for a moment. "Katniss put on an archery demonstration for me, and killed a squirrel living in a tree in the middle of Victors' Village. And she told me, before she became a Victor, that she used to live in one of those shacks and ate squirrels, so she wouldn't starve."

"You didn't know how people in District Twelve lived before your visit?" I asked.

Meda shook her head. "I just knew that they mined coal."

"And learning how people lived in District Twelve made you sympathetic to the Rebellion?"

"It made me think," Meda replied. "You see, in the Capitol, how district people live is not something that's taught in schools. We learned what each district produces, but that's about it. No one ever said anything about how poor some of the district people were, or how badly the Peacekeepers treated them."

"Do you think most people that live in the Capitol were kept ignorant about the conditions in the districts?" I asked.

Meda nodded. "And the ones that knew – like my grandfather – didn't seem to care."

"Let's talk about your grandfather for a moment, Meda." I shifted slightly in my seat. "He knows that you're here in Thirteen of your own free will. When you spoke to him, did he seem angry?"

"No." Meda shook her head. "He seemed hurt that I would betray him."

"When you talk to him again, what do you think you will say?"

Meda took a deep breath. "I'll tell him that I love him, but I had to do what was right."

"Speaking of love," I said with a smile, "I understand that you've made some new 'friends' here in Thirteen."

Meda blushed slightly. "You're talking about July, aren't you?"

"Yes," I nodded. "I'm talking about July. Tell us about how you met."

"His name is July Barrow," Meda said. "We met in the hospital. I was working there, and he was a patient. He was wounded during your rescue from the Capitol."

"And you became friends?" I asked.

"I'd never met anyone like him," Meda admitted. "He's smart, and funny, and he…"

Meda's voice trailed off as if she realized that she was on the verge of revealing too much. "I met July back in District Twelve," I said quickly. "He was one of the Community Home kids and was a big part of the Reaping Day Uprising." _July's humble roots are sure to give Coriolanus Snow fits,_ I said to myself as I stifled a laugh. _July was considered poor, even in the poorest district – and his active participation in the Rebellion is a bonus._

"I know where he's from," Meda said, somewhat defensively. "And I don't care," she added defiantly. "I like him. A lot."

"And that's all that really matters, isn't it?" I asked with a smile.

"That's the _only_ thing that matters," Meda replied firmly.

"Meda, I want to thank you again for being here with us today," I said. "But before we go, is there any message that you would like to pass on to your grandfather?"

Meda nodded. "Yes." She turned and gazed directly into the camera. "Grandpa, no matter what happens, I want you to know that I have never stopped loving you." I watched her carefully as a single tear rolled slowly down her cheek. "You have the power to stop this war. There's been enough killing. Please, please give the order. The sooner you do this, this sooner you and I can see each other again." Meda was crying quietly now and choked back a sob as her emotions got the better of her, her final word a heartfelt plea.

"Please."

 **PART II**

"Okay, Plutarch," Boggs said tiredly, "let's have it."

"Peeta's interviews are very effective in the districts," Plutarch replied carefully. "As far as the Capitol is concerned – well, that's a lot tougher to gauge."

We had been summoned to an informal meeting by Boggs shortly after I had concluded my interview with Andromeda Snow. These meeting tended to be short and to the point – and this one looked like it would be no different.

"And that brings us to my next item," Boggs said as he scribbled something in his ever-present notebook. "The Capitol, and specifically Minister Quintus Blackstone." He turned to Beetee. "Has he attempted contact again?"

Beetee shook his head. "Not since his initial broadcast."

"And that should be a big red flag, Colonel," Haymitch chimed in. "He calls, asks for our terms for the Capitol's surrender, and we never hear from him after that?"

Boggs nodded in agreement. "Exactly. That tells me that Blackstone is not acting as the head of government, but rather acting on his own."

"So, what does that mean?" I asked, my voice tinged with alarm. I was _positive_ that Blackstone reaching out to us meant that the war would soon be over – or, at least, I _had_ been positive.

"Maybe nothing," Boggs replied thoughtfully. "And maybe everything." He turned to Plutarch. "You're our resident expert on Capitol politics. What's the chain of command like after Snow?"

"There isn't one," Plutarch replied simply.

"So, if Snow was dead, or incapacitated to the point where he couldn't perform his duties –" Boggs said.

"– there would be a huge power vacuum," Plutarch finished. "Snow kept it muddied like that deliberately. He didn't want to have an ambitious second-in-command drooling over the reins of power and plotting behind his back."

"So, Blackstone would be just another player in a power struggle?" Haymitch asked.

"There's someone here that can answer that better than I can," Plutarch said, as he turned to a man standing in the background, his arms crossed over his chest. "Casca?"

Casca Bishop - Coriolanus Snow's former personal bodyguard, and the man most responsible for my rescue from what would have been my nationally televised execution - stepped forward. "Blackstone is Minister of Security," he explained. "As such, he controls virtually every Peacekeeper in Panem. However, the Peacekeepers swear an oath to President Snow, and _not_ to the nation of Panem."

"Hmmph," Haymitch grunted as he jerked his thumb towards Silenus Festuca and Darius Potter – two former Peacekeepers, now valued members of the Rebellion. "Guess they didn't take their oath too serious, then."

"Don't take the Peacekeeper's Oath lightly, Haymitch," Darius admonished. "I can assure you that there's a good number of Peacekeepers out there, still fighting, whose sole motivation is loyalty to President Snow."

"And don't think that Blackstone can't influence events, with or without Peacekeeper support," Festuca added. "He did manage to divert a nuke ticketed for District Ten into a barren stretch of desert."

"Be that as it may," Boggs pointed out, "sabotaging one missile is not exactly a coup."

"I think that we can agree that Minister Blackstone most likely will not use any direct military action against President Snow," Plutarch said. "For now, we shouldn't alter any plans already in the works. Continue as though Blackstone never contacted us to begin with. If he contacts us again, we can try to get an idea then on how he plans to surrender the Capitol to us."

"So, we do nothing?" Katniss asked sharply. "What kind of plan is that?"

"We continue to put pressure on the Capitol," Boggs explained. "We've effectively cut their supply lines, and their strategic reserves are dwindling rapidly. Once we are able to resume offensive operations in spring we should have the Capitol completely surrounded."

"Which will do no good, as long as Snow is still in power," Haymitch muttered.

"Have faith, Haymitch," Plutarch said cheerfully. "You forget, we have Snow's biggest weakness right here in District Thirteen. And, unless I miss my guess, we will be hearing from him once he sees Andromeda on the latest episode of Panem United."

I could only wonder how Snow will react once he sees me interviewing Andromeda – and he realizes that his beloved granddaughter has completely, irrevocably, turned Rebel.

 **PART III**

 _Coriolanus Snow didn't think that his day could get any worse than it already was – until, at Security Minister Blackstone's urging, he turned on the Holo-TV and watched as the traitor Peeta Mellark interviewed his granddaughter._

 _Snow rubbed his hands against his temples as Andromeda spoke._ Watching this isn't helping my damned headache, _he thought. He reached out with one trembling hand and picked up a water glass, his eyes never leaving the holographic image of his granddaughter as she continued to speak. Snow sipped at the water, unmindful of the bloody sores in his mouth tingeing the water pink as he drank, even as Andromeda was speaking about some District Twelve Community Home boy that she had taken up with._

" _A_ Community Home _boy," he muttered savagely. "From District Twelve, no less. The lowest of the low." He blinked as the image of his granddaughter suddenly blurred, focused, and blurred again. Snow set his water glass on the table and angrily punched a button on his desk._

 _Spartacus Knight, Snow's personal bodyguard, instantly appeared in the door. "Yes, sir?"_

" _Inform the Information Minister that she is to immediately report to me here," Snow ordered tightly. "Perhaps she will be able to explain to me exactly why these pirate broadcasts keep breaking into the Capitol networks – and, at the same time, advise me as to what measures she is taking to prevent this propaganda from polluting our airwaves in the future."_

" _Yes, sir," Spartacus said. He turned to leave, hesitated, and then turned back towards Snow. "President Snow? Are you feeling all right, sir?"_

" _I'm fine," Snow snapped. He waved his hand towards the door dismissively. "Now do as I've ordered."_

 _Snow rubbed his hand over his eyes as Spartacus shut the door behind him._ I'm fine, _he said to himself._ Just tired. So tired.

 **PART IV**

I was at dinner with Katniss and Johanna Mason when Minister Blackstone contacted District Thirteen again.

Meals had become an extension of the work day for us. This dinner was no different. My next segment of Panem United was to feature both Katniss and Johanna. The challenge for me was to attempt to draw out of Katniss a very personal, painful time in her life – the death of her father. Johanna presented a different challenge – try to get her to speak of her life immediately following her Victory, when Snow tried to coerce her into joining his stable of Victor prostitutes.

Fulvia wanted Katniss to reveal what it had been like to be one of Snow's prostitutes. I regarded the battle that I had fought with both her and Plutarch to change Katniss's topic of conversation as well-fought. I won – barely – but my Victory had its cost – and the trade-off was convincing Katniss to open up and talk about the single most painful time in her life. I could tell that Katniss was less than thrilled about having to speak about her father, but that wasn't my biggest challenge. No, my biggest challenge would be to prevent Johanna in becoming too graphic when she spoke about exactly what Snow wanted her to do.

Needless to say, conversation was a bit tense. So, when the runner found us and told us to immediately report to Beetee's lab (I made it a point to not wear my commicuff at meals), I couldn't move fast enough to comply.

* * *

Katniss, Johanna, and I were the last to arrive in Beetee's lab.

Boggs fixed me with a baleful stare as we entered. "You were issued that commicuff for a reason," he grumbled. "Valuable time was wasted sending runners to look for you. I trust we won't need to have this conversation again?"

I could tell that Boggs was genuinely irked about the delay. "No, sir," I replied meekly.

"What's the big emergency, anyway?" Johanna asked.

Boggs glanced uncertainly at Johanna. "You aren't cleared for this, Miss Mason," he said. To me, he added, "Why did you bring her along?"

"She was with us when your runner found us," Katniss explained, a note of irritation creeping into her voice. "She's here. What's the harm?"

"Like Colonel – excuse me, _President_ Boggs said," Jackson replied stiffly, "Mason isn't cleared for this –"

"And Enobaria is?" Katniss interrupted archly. "Don't forget, my mother and sister both work in the hospital. They both hear things, like conversations between patients and their visitors."

Jackson's eyes flashed angrily. "You leave Eno out of this!" she snapped.

Beetee cleared his throat. "I suggest that the matter of Johanna's clearance be discussed later," he said softly. "Colonel, perhaps you should respond to Minister Blackstone's call – before he tires of waiting and breaks the connection."

"Blackstone?" Johanna repeated in amazement. "Security Minister Blackstone?" She whistled softly. "He's calling _here_?"

"I agree," Boggs replied to Beetee as he picked up the microphone. To Johanna he said, in a _I will be obeyed_ voice, "Miss Mason, you may stay, as long as you keep silent. And remember - everything you hear in this room is classified. Do you understand?"

Johanna simply nodded as Boggs raised the microphone to his mouth. "Station calling, this is Boggs, District Thirteen. Standing by."

"Took you long enough. Blackstone here," a voice crackled over the speaker. "I would like to speak with my daughter. Put her on." Blackstone paused, and then added, "Please."

Boggs glanced up, his hand cupping the microphone. "Effie went to fetch her," Haymitch assured him. "They should be here –"

At that moment Effie, along with Sperantia Blackstone, entered the lab. "Stand by, Minister," Boggs said as he beckoned Sperantia forward.

Sperantia wore a puzzled expression on her face as she and Effie approached. "Mrs. Abernathy said you wanted to see me?"

Boggs smiled reassuringly at Sperantia. "Someone wants to talk to you," he said. Into the microphone, he said, "She's right here, Minister. Stand by."

Boggs held the microphone out to Sperantia. "Speak into this part here," he explained. "It's voice-activated."

She took the microphone and held it close to her mouth. "Hello?"

"Speri." Even through the static, the emotion in Blackstone's voice was apparent. "How – how are you?"

Speri's breath caught in her throat. "Dad?" Her chin trembled slightly as she spoke. "It's you? Really you?"

"It's me, Speri. How are they treating you? Are you well?"

"I – I'm fine, Dad," she managed to choke out. "How are you? And how is Mother?"

"We're both well, Speri." Blackstone paused. "We've been worried about you. We didn't know if you were…I mean, until we saw you on the holo broadcast…"

"I'm sorry if I worried you." Speri blinked back tears and rubbed her free hand awkwardly across her eyes. "I couldn't talk to you until now."

"I know." Blackstone said thickly. "And don't apologize. I know that you being there wasn't your idea."

"No," Speri replied slowly. "But I'm glad I'm here." A puzzled look crossed her face. "Dad, how are you talking to me right now? Did President Snow –"

"President Snow doesn't know about this communication," Blackstone said. "I can't explain now." He paused for a moment. "Speri, I don't have much time. I need to speak to President Boggs again. I – I just wanted to hear your voice first."

Speri glanced up at Boggs, a stricken look on her face. "Can't we just talk for a minute more? Please?"

"Your father is calling us at great risk to himself," Boggs explained gently. "I'm sorry."

"Speri?" Blackstone said. "Listen to President Boggs. We'll talk again soon. All right?"

"I love you, Dad," Speri sobbed. "And Mother, too. Tell her I love her."

"I – _we_ love you too, Speri," Blackstone replied softly. "Be good," he added. "Goodbye for now."

Boggs reached his hand out for the microphone. "Goodbye, Dad," Speri whispered, and then reluctantly handed the microphone to Boggs. "Thank you," she said softly.

"You'll talk to him again soon," Boggs promised, as Effie stepped forward and gently took Speri's arm to lead her out of the lab.

Boggs raised the microphone to his mouth but waited until Effie left the lab with Speri before he spoke. "It's Boggs, Minister."

"Thank you for allowing me to speak with my daughter," Blackstone said.

"Of course," Boggs replied. "Minister, like you said, you haven't much time, and we have some questions for you."

"You wish to know how I plan on surrendering the Capitol while President Snow is still in power?" Blackstone asked bluntly.

"That is a matter of concern to us," Boggs admitted. "Do you have an answer?"

"Not yet. Suffice to say, however, that there will be no further missile attacks on any of the districts. Our lead engineers and technicians have discovered numerous problems with the degradation of the guidance systems in our remaining missile fleet. These issues will take time to correct."

"In the meantime," Boggs said tightly, "the fighting continues."

"This winter has been especially brutal," Blackstone pointed out. "Offensive operations, both Rebel and Loyalist, have been severely hampered by inclement weather. There's no real fighting going on anywhere."

"Spring is not far off, Minister," Boggs said patiently. "We desire to capture the Capitol intact – but many field commanders are sick of the fighting and want to bring this war to a speedy end. I can't guarantee that these commanders won't act independently and launch their own offensives against the Capitol once the weather cooperates."

"And if I can deliver the Capitol to you before such actions become necessary?"

Boggs snorted. "Minister, you can't even tell us how you plan to surrender the Capitol. I have it on good authority that the Peacekeeper force is controlled by President Snow, and _not_ by you. And if Snow orders them to keep fighting –"

"It's not just the Peacekeepers that you have to concern yourself with," Blackstone interrupted. "It's the Gamemakers. Snow has ordered Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane to install a series of traps throughout the Capitol, like the traps found in Hunger Games arenas, that will make any sort of invasion very expensive for the Rebels. And the Gamemakers do not operate under any authority other than Snow's."

I shared a quick look with Katniss. Snow was turning the Capitol into a giant, urban arena. I couldn't help but shudder at the thought of facing the horrors of my arena on the streets of the Capitol – and, from the look on her face, I could tell that Katniss felt the same way.

Boggs cupped one hand over his microphone. "Can they do that?" he asked Plutarch.

Plutarch nodded slowly. "Seneca has seventy-five years of Games to draw upon for inspiration. It wouldn't take much to booby-trap every street – every block. A ground offensive would be chewed up and spit out. And all the while, Peacekeeper casualties would be minimal."

"Thank you for the intel, Minister," Boggs said into his microphone. "Hopefully, it won't come to a ground offensive."

"I, of course, will continue to work towards a peaceful end to this conflict," Blackstone replied. "I must know, however, what terms you will offer for our eventual surrender."

"Minister, as you are currently in no position to surrender anything, I am in no position to offer anything," Boggs said firmly. "There are no terms. Your surrender must be unconditional."

"I feared that would be your response," Blackstone said sadly. "I must go now. I strongly urge you to reconsider. Thank you again for allowing me to speak with my daughter. Blackstone out."

"Minister?" Boggs said. "Minister?"

"He's ended his transmission," Beetee said as he glanced up from the transmitter. "He can't hear you."

"Well," Haymitch drawled, "all that accomplished was to let us know that Snow intends for one more Hunger Games to be fought – and this one inside the Capitol. Where," he added dryly, "the odds will be in no one's favor."

Katniss and Johanna summed up their feelings with a single word. "Shit."

 **PART V**

I was not sleeping well that night at all.

Katniss and I had both left Beetee's lab in a very subdued mood. Ever since Blackstone's first transmission, we had both been guardedly optimistic that the Minister would be able to deliver on his promise of a quick surrender. It had been a real let-down to hear Blackstone admit that he couldn't really deliver on his offer. In fact, Boggs was considering the possibility that Blackstone couldn't really do anything at all to shorten the war, much less deliver an intact Capitol into Rebel hands – that he was simply trying to curry favor with the Rebel leadership, in anticipation of an eventual Rebel victory.

Then there was the revelation that Snow intended to turn the Capitol into one giant killing field. There had been some discussion between Boggs, Zander, Jackson, and Silenus Festuca after Blackstone's call that centered on potential strategies for neutralizing the Gamemaker-inspired traps that Snow had ordered. These strategies included saturation bombing of the Rebel axis of advance, the use of artillery to open movement lanes, and even detonating a high-altitude nuclear weapon to fry any electronic components that operated these traps.

The first two were bad enough. Using nukes was the stuff of nightmares.

I finally gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed – carefully, so as not to disturb Katniss – and padded to the bathroom. I tiredly rubbed my hands over my face as I peered at my reflection in the mirror. The image that stared back looked at least twenty years older than me. I grunted, the sound a mix of disbelief and resignation, before I turned out the light and stepped from the bathroom into my quarters – only to discover, to my shock, Gamma Churchill perched on the foot of my bed.

"Everything come out all right?" she asked with a smirk.

I shook my head as I made my way back to the bed. "It's been a long day, Gamma," I grumbled. "Gale decide to stay away again?"

"He's still sulking," Gamma replied with a laugh. "Don't worry, Townie. I won't take up much of your time."

Katniss let out a soft snore as she rolled over in bed. "No wonder you can't sleep," Gamma laughed. "Not with Everdeen sawing wood like that."

"Get to the point," I muttered as I settled down onto the bed, careful not to wake Katniss.

"I have a message," Gamma announced dramatically. "Here it is – 'you're due for a stroke of good fortune.'"

"That's it?" I asked. "That's all there is?"

"That's it, Townie," Gamma replied cheerfully. "Mean anything to you?"

"No," I practically snapped. "Your little riddles never do."

"Maybe not at first," Gamma said slyly, "but they always have meaning."

She had me there. Almost every ghostly visit from Gamma (and Gale) was accompanied by a riddle that, at first, made no sense at first. Only later, after the event that the riddle had foretold had come to pass, was I able to understand the message. I was sure that this one would be no different – but I couldn't for the life of me find the solution.

"All right," I said begrudgingly. "You have a point."

"I always do," Gamma said with a chuckle as she leaned forward and placed her fingertips against my forehead. "Now go back to sleep."

She pushed my head back. "Peeta, wake up."

My eyes snapped open and I found myself staring up into Katniss's face. "What?"

"You were talking in your sleep," Katniss said softly. She tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Talking?" I asked in feigned amazement. "To who?"

Katniss shrugged. "Something about a 'stroke of good fortune.'"

I caught her hand and kissed her fingertips gently. "Well, at least my dreams have a positive message," I murmured.

Katniss smiled and then laid her head on my chest, snuggling close to me. "Get some sleep, Peeta," she whispered.

I kissed the top of her head. "G'night, Katniss."

After a few minutes, her deep, even breathing told me that Katniss had fallen back asleep. I wish it was that easy for me. The only problem was, I couldn't stop thinking about Gamma's cryptic message.

"You're due for a stroke of good fortune."

I stared up into the gloom as sleep once again evaded me and wondered just what the hell she meant.

 **PART VI**

 _The persistent pressure in Coriolanus Snow's bladder forced him awake._

" _Lights," he mumbled, blinking rapidly as the voice-activated lights softly flared, filling his bedroom with a soft yellow glow. He squinted slightly, his vision blurred as his eyes fought to focus on something,_ anything _, in his luxuriously appointed bedroom suite. With effort, he managed to lock his gaze onto the bathroom door, and he groaned as he painfully swung his legs out of bed, his joints creaking with every movement._

 _Snow paused, and then, with another painful effort, pushed himself erect, teetering unsteadily as his legs straightened. He took a deep, shaky breath before stepping towards the bathroom – and gasped as a sudden, blinding pain knifed through his head. Snow's legs buckled beneath him and he groped for the bed as he sunk to the thick carpet, the blanket tearing loose from his ineffectual grasp as his knees hit the floor and he bent at the waist, moaning in pain._

 _Snow tried, and failed, to raise his hands to his head. He toppled over, his shoulder and head striking the floor as inarticulate sounds of pain continued to pour from his mouth. The call button, gleaming dull ivory on his nightstand, seemed to taunt him, just out of reach of his nerveless fingers. He barely noticed as his bladder emptied suddenly, soaking his nightshirt and the carpet beneath him with warm, sticky urine._

 _A new, stabbing pain exploded behind Snow's eyes. He opened his mouth to scream but managed only a gurgling moan as his stomach twisted, heaved, and he vomited violently. His arms and legs trembled as a single thought raced through his mind._ I'm dying. I'm dying! I'M DYING!

 _That was Snow's last thought as he finally, blissfully, sunk into cool unconsciousness._

* * *

 _Quintus Blackstone sat at the breakfast table, across from his wife, and grimaced as he took a swallow of chicory coffee. He tried to ignore the taste as he scrolled through a series of low-priority messages and duty log entries that he had received since he had gone to bed the previous night._

What I wouldn't give for a decent cup of coffee, _he thought as he scrolled through his messages. There were shortages of everything in the Capitol, thanks to the Rebel blockades, and real coffee was virtually non-existent. Blackstone paused in his scrolling and read a message from his deputy, Antonius._ Guidance system issue on missiles on schedule, _the message read._ Anticipate completion in two days. _Blackstone nodded slightly. Within two days, there would not be a single operational missile left in the Capitol. The message, of course, was in a code that only Blackstone and Antonius understood._ Now, _Blackstone said to himself,_ I need be convincing the next time I talk to Snow –

 _Blackstone's phone suddenly rang, causing his wife, who had been sitting and staring vacantly at the far wall, to jump._ Poor woman, _Blackstone thought as he scooped up his phone._ I wish I could tell her that I spoke to Sperantia, and that she's all right. _Blackstone glanced at the Caller ID display._ Duty Officer, _it read simply. Blackstone shrugged, stabbed the ACCEPT CALL button, and raised the phone to his ear._

" _Blackstone," he said tersely._

" _I'm sorry to disturb you at home, Minister," a man's apologetic voice said. "This is the Duty Officer at the District Affairs Ministry, sir. Minister Hammersmith's compliments, sir. He's requested that you meet him at the Presidential Palace as soon as possible."_

 _Blackstone frowned._ Hammersmith? What the hell does _he_ want? _"I assume that Minister Hammersmith didn't deign to explain to you why?" Blackstone asked dryly._

" _No, sir," the duty officer said. "Just that you are to proceed to the Palace ASAP."_

 _Blackstone sighed and rubbed one hand across his face. "Please inform Minister Hammersmith that I will be there forthwith," he instructed, and then broke the connection with a stab of his finger._

" _What's going on?" Vesta Blackstone asked, somewhat fearfully._

" _That was Hammersmith's duty officer," Blackstone replied brusquely. He pulled up a number from his Contacts list and tapped a finger on the contact before raising the phone to his ear. "Please call for my car, Vesta. I have to leave in a few –"_

" _Presidential Palace," a feminine voice announced. "How may I help you, Minister Blackstone?"_

" _Is the President available?" Blackstone asked. "There is a matter of some urgency that I need to speak to him about."_

" _President Snow is unavailable at this time, Minister," the voice replied smoothly. "Have you spoken with Minister Hammersmith yet?"_

" _His duty officer just called me," Blackstone admitted. "I would like to know why I've been summoned to the Palace."_

" _Your questions will be answered once you arrive here," the voice assured him. "We will see you shortly. Goodbye, Minister."_

 _Blackstone glanced at his wife as the connection was broken. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered._

" _Your car will be here in two minutes, Quintus," Vesta said softly. "Best not to keep President Snow waiting."_

 _Blackstone nodded, and then picked up his coffee cup and downed the remainder in a single gulp. He stood, bent down, and kissed his wife gently on her cheek. "I'll call you once I learn what's going on."_

 _As he turned to leave, Vesta said hopefully, "Perhaps the President has news of Sperantia and Andromeda."_

 _Blackstone barely hesitated. "I'm sure she's well, Vesta," he muttered, and then hurried out of the dining room before his resolve crumbled, and he told his wife that he had, very recently, spoken with his very-much alive and well daughter._

* * *

 _Quintus Blackstone glanced around the circular conference table at his fellow ministers, and, for the hundredth time, secretly marveled that Coriolanus Snow had somehow managed to build a round table with a well-defined head._ The old man's a romantic, _Blackstone said to himself._ Caught up in pre-Catastrophe legends of ancient kings wielding magic swords. Well, we're not knights of the realm, Excalibur is a myth, and his "kingdom" is ablaze with rebellion.

 _The soft buzz of conversation suddenly died as the door to the ornately appointed room opened, and the portly, silver-haired figure of Cassius Hammersmith, Minister of District Affairs, entered the room, followed by a small, dark-haired man, slightly younger than Blackstone. There was a collective gasp from the assembled ministers when they recognized the dark-haired man – for his father was the most powerful man in the nation of Panem._

" _Ladies and gentlemen," Hammersmith wheezed dramatically, and unnecessarily, "his Excellency, Marcellus Snow."_

 _Blackstone, along with the others, rose to his feet._ Excellency, my ass, _he thought._ Marcellus Snow was a minor bureaucrat in Coriolanus Snow's protocol office. What the hell is he _doing_ here? Unless –

" _Please take your seats," Marcellus Snow said softly as he took the place normally reserved for his father. His voice had an unpleasant, nasally, reedy sound, and Blackstone winced inwardly as he sat down._

" _I won't waste valuable time," Snow continued. "My father, President Coriolanus Snow, was discovered unconscious on the floor of his master suite this morning when his personal valet went to awaken him. He was rushed to the Presidential Suite at Victor's Mercy Hospital where his physicians have just completed their initial diagnosis of his condition."_

 _Snow paused and scanned the stunned faces of the assembled Ministers. "My father had an undiagnosed brain aneurysm, aggravated by stress and overwork, that ruptured sometime after midnight. He's suffered a massive hemorrhagic stroke and is currently in a coma and unresponsive."_

 _Exclamations of surprise erupted from the Ministers. Snow held up his hands ineffectually as he tried to regain control of the meeting. Finally, Minister Cassius Hammersmith stood, his face set in a solemn mask, and raised one hand. "Quiet, everyone," he said firmly. "Quiet, please!"_

 _Slowly the cacophony died. Blackstone glanced at his fellow Ministers. All wore expressions of shock on their faces, and two were openly crying._ I must be careful _, he said to himself._ If anyone suspects my _true_ feelings –

 _The Minister of Health raised one hand. "Excellency, do the doctors have a prognosis yet?"_

 _Snow shook his head. "It's too early to tell, Doctor – or so I was informed by my father's medical team. But the attending neurologist was not optimistic. She indicated that, due to the nature and size of this stroke, my father may never walk again. He may not be able to speak intelligently. He may never awaken from his coma."_

 _The Minister of Information asked the unspoken question. "We have no Vice President. There are no clear lines of succession. This would be priority in normal times, but_ now _, in time of war, it's critical. Who will lead?"_

 _The corners of Snow's mouth barely twitched. "I will."_

 _It became perfectly clear to Blackstone, as he glanced from Marcellus Snow to Cassius Hammersmith, exactly what was happening here._ It's a power grab, _Blackstone said to himself._ Marcellus Snow is a figurehead. A puppet. And Hammersmith is the puppet master. He'll be the true authority in Panem.

 _Hammersmith was speaking. "Obviously, this is an emergency. We, the Ministers of Panem, must put this to a vote. Here. Today. This nation will not survive unless we choose an interim leader. And Marcellus Snow is the most logical choice."_

" _Excellency, how long will you retain the authority of President?" This question was asked by the Minister of Transportation._

" _As soon as my father is able to resume his duties, I shall, of course, step aside," Snow replied. "If he is not capable of resuming his duties, I shall remain in office until the Rebellion has been crushed and peace once again returns to Panem. At that time, we shall hold elections to choose a new President."_

 _Murmurs of assent rose from the Ministers._ Sheep _, Blackstone thought bitterly._ Coriolanus Snow has been President for so long that many here don't remember anyone else ever holding the office. They're shitting themselves at the thought of not having someone to tell them what to do.

" _A vote," Hammersmith was saying. "All in favor of installing Marcellus Snow as Interim President, say 'aye.'"_

 _A chorus of "ayes" filled the room. "Aye," Blackstone found himself muttering._ Now is not the time, nor the place, to challenge Hammersmith. I need muscle.

" _Opposed?" Hammersmith asked. Silence was the only response._

" _Ladies and gentlemen," Hammersmith intoned, "I give you Interim President Marcellus Snow. May he lead us with his father's strength and wisdom."_

Don't throw up here, _Blackstone thought urgently, as polite applause filled the conference room._

 **PART VII**

"Hold the elevator!"

I had just stepped into the elevator – on my way to a production meeting with Plutarch and Fulvia to discuss my next show – when Jackson appeared, jogging down the hallway towards the elevator. I jerked back on the control lever with one hand while sliding the cage open with the other. Jackson slipped through the opening, nodding her thanks with a quick jerk of her head, and spoke a single word as I closed the cage door and the elevator jerked into motion.

"Ten."

"I get off at Eleven," I replied dryly. "But I'm sure you can find your way up one more level."

The significance of her destination level was not lost on me. Enobaria had her quarters on Level Ten. "Going to see Enobaria?" I asked casually.

Jackson paused before replying. "Yes," she said tersely.

"Oh." We rode in silence for a couple of levels before I spoke again. "It's none of my business, but are you two –"

"You're right," Jackson snapped. "It's none of your fucking business!"

"Sorry," I muttered. Two more levels creaked slowly by. I idly wondered if I had selected the slowest elevator in District Thirteen.

"Shit," Jackson finally murmured. "I'm sorry. To answer your question – yes. We are."

"I didn't mean to pry," I said sincerely. "I was just curious. That's all."

"You wouldn't believe some of the snide comments I've heard," Jackson said bitterly. "You know the kind. The ones that people say when they pretend that they don't know you're there – but they intend for you to overhear anyway."

I thought back to the time in District Twelve between Katniss's Games and mine – and all the shit that I had to endure. "I understand."

Jackson chuckled and shook her head, her laughter tinged with more bitterness. "I really think you do understand," she said.

Deftly, I worked the elevator controls, and the elevator slowed to a stop. "I do indeed." I slid the cage door open with a clang. "Say hello to Enobaria for me."

"I will," Jackson said, as the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. As I stepped out of the elevator, I felt my commicuff vibrate against my wrist. I glanced down at the screen and quickly read the message. It was from Boggs, ordering me to Beetee's lab.

I turned back towards Jackson. "Did you get –" she began.

I nodded and stepped back into the elevator. "Yeah."

"Must be another message from Blackstone," Jackson muttered as I closed the door behind me. "I wonder what this one's about?"

"We'll find out soon enough," I replied as the elevator jerked into motion.

* * *

The transmission from Blackstone had already ended by the time Jackson and I got to Beetee's lab.

"Have a seat," Boggs said. "We're still waiting on two others."

I glanced around the room. The usual group was there – Boggs, Plutarch, Haymitch, Zander, Festuca, Potter, Beetee, and Katniss. I wondered who else we were waiting for. "Who are we waiting on?" I asked.

"Doctors Aurelius and Picardo," Beetee replied.

"Is someone sick?" Jackson asked.

"No one here," Haymitch said mysteriously, as he shifted around in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position for his still-healing leg – broken when the hovercraft he had been riding in crashed during the nuclear attack in District Eight.

I was wondering about that cryptic remark when Aurelius entered the room. "Picardo is in surgery," he explained. He glanced around the lab with interest. It was his first visit to Beetee's sanctuary.

"Thank you for responding so quickly, Doctor," Boggs said. "Please have a seat."

"I don't understand," Aurelius said as he sat. "Is anyone here ill?"

"I need you to listen to a transmission we received a short while ago," Boggs explained. "From this point, you are to regard everything that you hear as classified."

"I understand," Aurelius said slowly.

Boggs nodded once. "Very well. We have been in communication with Quintus Blackstone, the Minister of Security for Panem. We're working with him to try to bring this war to a quick end."

Aurelius raised his eyebrows in surprise at this news. "What does this have to do with Picardo or myself?" he asked.

"Just listen, Doctor," Boggs said. He nodded to Beetee. "Play it."

Beetee pressed a button on a digital recorder. "Station calling, this is Beetee Latier, in District Thirteen," Beetee's voice said from the recorder.

"This is Blackstone," a terse voice replied. "Is Boggs there?"

"I've sent for him," Beetee's voice said. "He'll be here shortly."

"No time," Blackstone's voice said. "I don't have much time. You need to record this."

"I'm recording, Minister," Beetee's calm voice said reassuringly. "Go ahead."

"President Snow has been hospitalized," Blackstone said hurriedly. "He's in a coma. His doctors say he had an undiagnosed brain aneurysm that ruptured sometime last night, causing a massive hemorrhagic –"

Beetee glanced up. "That's it," he said as he stopped the recorder.

"I'm concerned about the abrupt way the transmission ended," Boggs said. "I'm afraid that Blackstone may have been discovered." He turned to Aurelius. "What do you think he was trying to tell us?"

"In simple terms, an aneurysm is a weak spot on a blood vessel," Aurelius explained slowly. "These spots tend to bulge outward, like a balloon. Eventually, if they grow too large, an aneurysm can rupture and cause uncontrolled internal bleeding." He paused and glanced around at all of us before continuing. "If President Snow suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm, then that almost certainly precipitated a hemorrhagic stroke. In my opinion, that was the missing part of the Minister's transmission."

I listened in shock as Aurelius finished his clinical description of what happened to President Snow, and Gamma Churchill's cryptic message finally made perfect sense.

 _You're due for a_ stroke _of good fortune._


End file.
